


Broken Hearts & Shattered Minds

by fishfingersandjellybabies



Series: Dad!Jason AU [5]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Like so much angst, M/M, Talon!Dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-09 21:50:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4365446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishfingersandjellybabies/pseuds/fishfingersandjellybabies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was only a piece of his shattered happiness, but he would cling to it with all he had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Hearts & Shattered Minds

**Author's Note:**

> I can’t believe I fucking wrote this, oh my god. I know there’s probably a crapload of little mini plotholes/things I should have gone deeper into but didn’t, since I wanted to keep the focus on Jason, Dick and Damian. Warnings of violence and mentions of alcohol abuse. This is so long because it’s my cute AU and this is the only incredibly sad/angsty thing I’m ever writing for it, so. I know there was a lot of things I wanted to mention in this a/n but I’ve forgotten. I dunno, if you have questions about something, just message me on tumblr, haha. Supplemental listening: ‘Elastic Heart’ by Sia.

He waited, like he did every night Dick put on that mask – which, thankfully, were few and far between anymore. Window open, bathroom light on, curled around Dick’s pillow. A light doze as he waited for his lover to return.

Dick tried to wean him off the habit. Tried to leave after he fell asleep, but it never worked. Jason could always sense when his partner was gone, always jerked awake with faint tinglings of a nightmare, ones about Dick leaving and not coming back.

Because it was terrifying, thinking how quickly his happiness could be taken away.

Some nights he sat up reading. Others, watching television. Few, getting Damian through his own nightmares and problems. Most, though, were like this. He’d listen to Gotham’s nightlife, relish the breeze floating through the curtains. Wait until Nightwing’s boots hit the windowsill, then pass out before the man stripped and fell into bed beside him.

He rarely ever made it long enough to feel Dick’s arms wrap around him, feel the press of his lips for a proper goodnight kiss.

But tonight was different.

Because he waited.

And waited.

And _waited_.

But Nightwing never came home.

~~

It was four days – two hundred text messages, one hundred and twelve voicemails, and fifty-seven emails – later when Jason got a phone call.

From Barbara.

“I…” She sounded sad, even from that one syllable. “Jason, are you home? Can I come over? I…I need to talk to you. In person.”

She was there an hour later, Damian dutifully climbing up onto her lap, babbling about his day. Jason noted how tightly Barbara hugged Damian, how closely she held him, even as he brought up finger-painting for the third time.

“Dames, Auntie Babs and I have to talk, okay?” Jason murmured. “She’ll color with you when we’re done. Promise.”

Damian nodded, obediently held his finger up to his lips, then looked down at the coloring book in his hands, pulling a crayon from his pocket. Barbara smiled, not releasing him in the slightest, before looking back up.

“So?” Jason asked quietly, once he knew Damian’s attention was occupied. “What’s the word? Is he okay? Broken phone? Recuperating at the manor?”

It was hard to keep the hope from his voice. Because all of those things had happened before. Being a vigilante and a dad came with challenges, and Jason knew that. Respected that. Gave Dick a lot of leeway on that.

Barbara’s smile fell away instantly. “None of the above.” She admitted. “Ick-Day hasn’t been seen since he went on patrol four days ago.”

Jason’s heart – his whole _soul_ , really – dropped.

“There was a group that called themselves the Court of Owls, that’s who Batman and the others were fighting. A few of them kept making mention of…of ‘Wing, sending their fighters specifically after him. We thought we beat them, thought we fought them all off, but…” Barbara glanced down, ran a hand over Damian’s hair. “When all the smoke cleared, ‘Wing was gone.”

“And no signs?” Jason whispered.

“No signs.” Barbara concurred. “But we have reason to believe that they, this Court, took him. And Bruce has been out there every night since looking for him. Looking for _them_.”

“How did they know who he was?”

“Not sure. They kept mentioning Haly’s.” Barbara sighed. “But…but Tim believes that…well…”

“Spit it out, Babs.” Jason’s voice was already hoarse, and Damian glanced up at him at the change in his tone.

“Tim believes that maybe…this kidnapping – if that’s what it was – was planned.” A pause. “That the Court of Owls followed him beforehand. For weeks. Maybe months.”

“You’re saying they knew about me.” Jason surmised. “Knew about…” A quick nod to the child in her lap.

“Bruce doesn’t want to take any chances. He wants you and Damian to come stay at the manor for a while.” She glanced down. “Just…just in case.”

Jason pursed his lips, flopped back against the cushions of the couch, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

“Ick-Day can normally get himself out of a simple kidnapping. Even if it takes a while.” Jason sighed, hoping his son wouldn’t ask who they were talking about. He dreaded the day Damian learned how to understand Pig Latin. “A few more days. Three. Three more days. We’ll give him a full week to get himself out of this mess.”

“…And then?”

“…Then we’ll take precautions.” He closed his eyes. “Then we’ll get Damian to safety.”

~~

They never did return to the manor.

On that seventh day, the day Dick’s time limit to save himself was up, Jason didn’t sleep. Stayed awake all night, panic jolting through his system.

_Why?_ Why _him?_ Why _now?_ What had happened to him? Was it this Court? Was it really a simple kidnapping? Or did they kill him? Was he safe? Was he not? Was he _alive?_

…How was Jason going to do this on his own?

On the eighth day, Jason stopped answering phone calls. He knew who was calling. It was the _family_ , calling for an immediate lockdown. For Jason to bring Damian to that sprawling house and for both of them to hide in a windowless room.

But how was that going to find Dick?

He could protect Damian on his own, did it for months before Dick was even in the picture. He’d die before he let some cult lay a finger on his child, and he never went down without a fight.

But still.

Day Eight was when he went numb. Day Ten was when things went bad. Day Twelve was when Jason went to the store, and just so happened to find the good whiskey on sale.

~~

It took only nine days, they said.

“We’ve never had a Talon able to adapt as quickly as you did.”

He was the strongest, they said.

“It was only an idea. You were only a prospect. You had the genes for it. That’s why we were watching you.”

He was the best, they said.

“They tried to take you from us. And they almost succeeded. But they didn’t, and now they must be punished.”

He barely needed any training, they said.

“Punish them, Talon. Use the skills they taught you and destroy them. Destroy the ones who kept you from us.”

It would be his first real mission, they said.

“Start with this one, here. A young man. Early twenties. He hid you from us, for the Batman. He must be put down.”

It would be his easiest one, they said.

“Leave _no_ witnesses.”

It would be fun, they said.

“Good luck.”

~~

The man didn’t exactly hide.

He never noticed he was being watched either, and he – Richard, they said his name was Richard – found that odd. If the other was so skilled as to keep him invisible to the Court for ages, how could he not know he was being watched?

But no, the man took no precautions. Every day was the same. Dick watched through a bedroom window – one the man inexplicably kept open, despite weather conditions – as every day, the man got up not long after the sun, and shuffled slowly to another room before reappearing with a sleepy child in his arms. The man and boy would watch some television as the adult guided the younger through a morning routine. Use the toilet, wash your hands, brush your teeth, comb your hair.

Then they would get dressed, travel out to the kitchen. The man would make the child breakfast, though sometimes wouldn’t make the child what he wanted. It seemed the man was against any and all types of cereal, opting instead for eggs or toast or fruit.

(Those mornings seemed different. A little more anger, a little more sadness. The little boy was always left to eat alone, after the breakfast was made. He always sat there silently crying, while the man went back to his bedroom and threw things. Sometimes he screamed. Sometimes he cried, too. But only those mornings, only the mornings the little boy wanted cereal.)

Then, the two would leave. Hand in hand, they’d walk down the street, travel a few blocks away, where the man would leave the child at a school of some sort. And regardless of if there was an argument over the morning meal or not, the man would always crouch in front of the child, take his face in his hands, kiss his forehead and say, “I love you, bird. Don’t you forget it.”

To which the little one would return: “Love you, too, Baba. Always.”

The child would then hug the man – always tightly, always as if that was the last time he was going to see him – then run to the building. And the man always watched, always remained in his crouched position, until the school door closed behind him.

Then the man would stand. Shove his hands in his pockets and turn away. Walk a few more blocks, then turn into an old garage. A few men always called to him when he arrived, asked how he was doing, asked how someone named Dames was doing.

(When Richard first started following, they always asked about someone named Dickie, too. But it wasn’t long before that subject was avoided, and the person named Dickie was never brought up again, at least not to his face. Just Dames. Always Dames.)

The man would stay at that garage for hours. Get dirtier as the day went on, took smoke breaks where he would alternate between a cigarette and a flask. The other workers would watch him with sad and worried eyes. Whisper behind his back, and those became the only times the name Dickie was said.

(There was once, during these breaks and whispers, one of the other workers confronted him. He was fat, and when he stomped over to the man, his stomach jiggled. He yanked the flask from the man’s hand, threw it to the ground and stomped on it until it cracked, shouting to the high heavens to “Think of Dames! Do you do this in front of him? Does he know? Fuck Dickie for leavin’ you, but think of Dames, why don’t you! Think of that baby and get your shit together, Todd!”)

(He didn’t. He went home that night and wouldn’t let the little boy go. But the next day, slid a brand new flask into his jacket.)

At the end of the day, the man would leave, go back to the school, pick up the little boy – who would run down the path, jump into the man’s arms and squeeze him just as firmly as he did in the mornings – and they would go back to the apartment.

Their evenings were mundane. Sometimes, they would have guests. Most of the time they would just watch television, make some dinner, conduct a mandatory bath time. Then the boy would put on his pajamas and curl into bed. The man would read him a story, or they would talk, though what about, Richard could never hear. Much like the mornings, the man would never leave without kissing the child’s face, or letting the child return the affections.

Then he’d go into his room. Often, he’d just sit there, in the dark. Staring at the floor, or longingly out that open window. Sometimes he would bury his face in his hands and sob. After a while, he’d get up, disappear into the bathroom, then return in a towel, hair wet and skin red from heat.

He’d flop on the bed – sometimes he’d stay just like that, sometimes he’d burrow under the blankets – and just lay there. Gaze into the blank space ahead of him, before grabbing the pillow next to him and shoving his face into it. It almost looked like he was trying to suffocate himself, and maybe, Richard mused, he was.

He never did, though. Or at least, never succeeded. Would uncover his face and just clutch the pillow to his chest, eventually falling asleep.

Then the next day, the whole cycle would repeat. And for weeks, it did.

The Court was right.

Taking out Jason Todd would be easy.

~~

It was Day Twenty-Two, when he finally asked.

Damian twisted from his seat on the floor, blue eyes wide and sweet as he watched Jason trudge around the kitchen. “Baba?”

A glass slammed to the counter. “Hm?”

“When is Didi coming home?”

A squeak as the cupboard opened. A clink as a glass bottle was lowered. A bang as the cupboard door was thrown shut. “I don’t know.”

“Oh.” Damian glanced to the floor. “Baba?”

The splash of liquid. “Yes, baby.”

“Are you okay?”

“Of course.” Jason replied quietly, taking a long gulp of his drink, before pouring himself some more. “Never better.”

“Oh. Okay.” Damian turned back around, tried to focus on his zoo toys. “If you say so, Baba.”

~~

His dreams were dark. Silent. Empty.

It was him in a vast blackness. And he called. He called and called and called. For help. For somebody. For _anybody_.

_Please don’t make me be alone again._

He turned, and there was be a spotlight not far away. Dick was there, crouched. Damian stood in front of him, leaning back against Dick’s torso. Their eyes were both blank, both as empty as the darkness they stood in.

Dick was in his Nightwing uniform, and that had Jason’s heart pounding in itself. It was always a fear, always one of his _greatest_ fears, that Dick’s vigilante work would harm them, that Dick’s enemies would find Damian and take him away. Would kill him to prove a point.

“Dick? Babe?” Jason called nervously, stepping forward. The distance didn’t change, though, and neither his lover nor son acknowledged him. “What’re you and baby doing?”

No one answered, but a third player came into the spotlight, behind Dick. Jason couldn’t see his face, it was hidden by an eerie white mask. White mask and a black, indescribable outfit. The man’s arms had been folded behind his back, but now they appeared, one hand holding a wicked-looking knife, one like barbers use.

Slowly, he reached down, took a gentle hold of Dick’s chin. Then, he gracefully curved his other hand around, ran the blade smoothly across Dick’s throat. Blood poured from his neck like a waterfall, but neither Dick nor Damian seemed to notice it.

The blood splashed across Damian’s hair, running down his face and shoulders in waves. It completely engulfed his tiny frame, like he’d just jumped in a pool of it. But that’s when Jason realized it – the blood wasn’t covering Damian’s body, it was _melting_ it. He could see the child’s skin rotting away from his skull. The bone and muscles inside being dissolved into nothing.

But no one moved. Not Dick, not Damian, not the man in the white mask.

It didn’t take long for Damian to disappear, for his body to be evaporated like it was never there in the first place. Dick’s body fell to the side after that, head hanging awkwardly, like it was on a hinge, arteries and veins protruding from the gash.

The man in the white mask only moved to watch Dick fall, but now turned his head back upwards towards Jason. Jason, who suddenly realized he was screaming, but the sound wasn’t traveling. Who was crying, but the tears weren’t falling. Who had lost everything, but there was no evidence of that everything even existing in the first place.

The man in the white mask blinked, the white light of his eyeholes disappearing for a fraction of a second, then shrugged. Almost as if to say: _Oopsie_.

Jason ignored him, though. Kept screaming, kept watching as the man in the white mask kicked gently at Dick’s head, unhinged it completely and sent it rolling, then dropping, into the nothingness.

Jason inhaled to scream again-

-then woke up.

“Baba!” Damian was shouting, sitting on his chest, smacking at his collarbone. “Baba, wake up! Wake up, wake up, _wake up_! Just a dream! You’re dreaming! _You’re dreaming!_ ”

And on Day Fourty-One, Jason woke up from a nightmare sobbing. Sat up in his bed, and clung to Damian like the gods were about to rip him from the universe. Bawled into his son’s neck, and couldn’t stop long enough to answer any Damian’s terrified questions.

On Day Fourty-One, his four-year-old held him, pet his hair and pat his back, saying things like “It’s okay, Baba.” And “I have you, Baba. You’re safe.” And it all hurt _worse_ , because Damian was _four_ , and mimicry was one of his best skills, and he’d seen _Dick_ do this a thousand times.

But on Day Fourty-One, Damian did the best he could. He wiped Jason’s tears and rocked him back and forth. He brought him water and fruit and even turned on his shower. He stayed at his Baba’s side, getting him anything he needed or wanted – or anything he _could_ get, anyway. He let Jason hold him, squeeze him so tight he could barely breathe. He answered the phone, and lied on Jason’s behalf.

Neither of them made it out of the apartment that day.

~~

If Richard knew of his target’s system, it would have been Day Fourty-Nine when he took steps towards his end goal. When he broke into the flat to scope it out.

It was dark when he did. All the lights were off and the man and child had both gone to bed hours ago. It would have been easier to go in through his target’s bedroom window – it was still open, all these weeks later. It would have been easier to do this during the day, when the tenants were away at their respective locations.

But Richard found he liked that little sense of…danger. Of being caught, of getting too close. It was the one habit the Court frowned upon – “Always jumping without a safety net, eh, Richard? Some things never change, it seems.” – but apparently couldn’t break him from.

So, instead, in the dead of night, he gently slid open the window in the main room – the one he had picked the lock of during the day – dropping silently to the carpet. He had his knife at the ready, just in case. Just in case the man woke up, just in case he had to finish this mission tonight, as opposed to next week as he planned.

He hoped that didn’t happen. Because he found that he might have gotten a little… _attached_ to his target and the child. Attached to their mundane little lives. And he would hate to have to punish them for forcing him to act prematurely, for ruining his strategy. He didn’t want to have to kill them early.

He stepped into the room, careful of the toys littered across the floor. He glanced into the small kitchen, took in the dirty dishes in the sink, and the crumbs across the table. He looked into the tiny doorway, where there were a few pairs of shoes, mostly of the little one, scattered across the path. Then he turned his attention to the hallway.

It was a compact area, just like everything in the apartment was, stuffed with four doors. On the left was one door, the child’s bedroom. On the right were two doors, one an apparent closet, the other the bathroom. And then at the end of the hall, was the bedroom of the man.

The two bedroom doors were open, Richard noted as he passed them, as he stationed himself in the man’s doorway. His target was sleeping, though whether it was actually restful or not, he couldn’t tell. There was a half empty bottle on the nightstand, a disgusting smell coming from it, and another completely empty one on the ground.

This room was as miniscule as the rest of the home, without much room for hiding – an advantage for him. He could see all he had to do was close that window and his target would be trapped. An easy kill.

And, he realized quickly, as he stepped forward, it was the same for the whole apartment. Lock the windows and corner him. In the main room, in the kitchen, in the bathroom. Simple as that. He’d have nowhere to run. That front door might be an issue, but that might just prove challenge enough to make this whole mission…fun.

He loomed over the side of the bed, staring down at his target’s face. He smiled slightly then, cocking his head in curiosity. His target was…quite pretty, if he was honest. With features he couldn’t quite see from his long-range stalking. Long lashes over sun-tanned cheeks. A sharp jaw line, melting down to a defined throat and muscular chest.

There were traces of tears down his cheeks, but that didn’t negate any of his looks. He was lovely with or without his sadness, and Richard found himself fighting the urge to run his fingers gently down his face.

(In the back of his mind, he had a sense that he had, once upon a time. But kicked it down. This man was a target, an enemy of the Court, had kept Richard away from his rightful home, his rightful family. Richard was once an unwilling captive to this bastard of a man.)

There was suddenly the creak of a floorboard behind him, and an approaching voice of, “Baba, what are you doing up…?”

He turned just in time to see the child exit his room, fist rubbing sleepily at one of his eyes. The boy stopped in the doorway, gaze jerking up to Richard. His fist dropped instantly and his eyes widened.

And Richard had ignored the moonbeams shining through the windows until this moment, had been merely using them as light to see, but now, now he could see they were situated perfectly, slashing across the little boy’s eyes, lighting up his deep blue irises, making them look as if they were made of stars themselves.

Richard felt his heart thumping. He hadn’t meant to be seen, and doesn’t know how he was, he had been completely silent since entering the flat, he was sure of it. But no, he realized, his heart wasn’t hurting because he’d been caught. It was because he was having the same sensation he’d just had with the man in front of him, but intensified. The same sort of attention he didn’t have before, because he was always too far away, never close enough to make out the details of the child’s face.

“Didi?”

He knew this child.

(But of course he did. Because the man held him hostage, the Court said for _years_ , so of course he saw this child, perhaps the child was being held against his will as well. Perhaps they were both hostages, and Richard was the only one to get away.)  

He cared for this child.

(The name flashed through his mind. And suddenly a million instances of being called Didi appeared at once. All by this child, a few by the man behind him. All playful, all loving, all made his heart swell up in joy. But how could that be? He was a prisoner here, how could he have memories of being happy with these monsters?)

“Didi, is that you?”

He _loved_ this child.

The thought struck like an arrow to his chest.

Suddenly, he had to get out. The scope mission was a failure, he has been compromised, he has been _seen_. He needed to get out, regroup, replan.

He faintly registered the child stepping forward before he turned his attention away, zeroing in on that open window across the floor. He ran for it, dove through it, crashed into the edge of the fire escape, then jumped to the ground, running as far and quickly as he could.

~~

The next day was Saturday, and Jason woke up to the sensation of morning sunshine falling into his bedroom, and the sound of a chair scraping across the floor in the kitchen. He pulled his head off the pillow, rising just enough to see Damian climbing onto a chair, reaching for the cabinet.

He sighed, slowly rolled out of bed, debating putting a shirt on before shuffling out into the kitchen. Damian was happily munching on cereal by the time he got there, quickly trying to scrub away the splashes of milk he’d accidentally spilled before Jason could mention it.

“Good morning, Baba.” He said calmly. _Cautiously_ , Jason couldn’t help but think. Because Damian had been cautious around him for the past few weeks, and Jason couldn’t blame him.

“Good morning, baby.” Jason returned, forcing himself to reach for the orange juice instead of the beer. “Sleep good?”

“Mhm.” Damian hummed around a mouth full of cereal. “Did you?”

“Like a log.” Jason smiled, pulling the toaster out from the wall, plugging it in. He didn’t mention that it was because he’d passed out, due to both alcohol and the fact he’d barely slept the two nights before that.

“Good.” Damian sounded satisfied. They lapped into a short silence, then, full of only Damian’s open-mouthed crunching and the crinkle of the bag of bread. Jason could feel a tension from the child and glanced over his shoulder.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“Nothing.” Damian answered immediately. In the corner of his eye, he saw Damian glance up before staring back down at his bowl. “I…Baba, I saw Didi last night.”

Jason paused, letting the bread bag hang from his grasp, let it twist itself open. “…In your dream?”

“I thought it was a dream, yeah.” Damian shrugged. “But when I got up this morning, I found the living room window open.”

Jason swallowed, felt a tight lump in his throat.

“And that’s where I saw the shadow come from.” Damian continued. There was a slight mixture of bravery and hesitance in his voice. “I thought it was you, when I saw it. That maybe you’d woken up in the middle of the night like I did, and were just on your way back to your room. I dunno, after getting a glass of your juice? So I got up to see if you were okay, and I saw him.”

_It was a dream. It was a dream of an imaginative little boy._

“He was standing over your bed, just looking at you.” Damian finished. “When he saw me he ran away. I think he was scared. His skin was white. He looked like he’d seen a ghost.” Damian paused, then. Pursed his lips. “Or _was_ one.”

Jason’s mouth had gone dry. He didn’t know what to think. Was it a dream? Was it not? Was Dick actually home? But if he was, why did he run?

He glanced further around, glanced at the window between the sofa and television. It was closed, now. Damian must have shut it before getting his cereal.

He turned back around, popped two pieces of bread into the toaster before spinning towards his son with a grin.

“Sounds like a dream, Dames.” He laughed. “A ghost? Please, we know your Didi isn’t a ghost.”

“Do we?” Damian shot back quietly, and it was a valid question.

“We do.” Jason lied, walking around the table and ruffling his hair. “It was a dream, honey. Had to be. As if Didi would ever come home and not run to see you first.”

“Hmm.” Damian shoved his spoon back in his mouth, chewing loudly as he leaned against Jason’s side. Jason wrapped his arm around Damian’s shoulders, rubbing at his arm as he bent to kiss his forehead. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

~~

“You did not tell me,” Richard hissed, jerking his gaze around to every member of the Court in the gallery.

“We told you what you needed to know.” A woman said, standing. Richard wished he could see her face. Wished he could watch the light leave her eyes as he stabbed her throat. Sometimes, he hated those white masks. “We did not lie to you, Talon.”

“You said that man held me hostage-”

“He did.”

“-You did not say I would _feel_ things for him when I saw him! That I would suddenly remember him or his child!” Richard roared. “What were those…those _things_ that I saw?!”

“Flashbacks, I would guess.” The woman shrugged. “Of their trickery, most likely. He worked with the Batman, once upon a time. And when he took you, you had no choice but to go willingly, blinded by his manipulation of your emotions.”

“But if you are struggling,” A man stood now, in the opposite corner of the audience. “We will assign someone else the target.”

“No.” Richard sighed. “No, it is my mission, and I will see it through.”

“You better.” The woman said, as she and the other man disappeared back into the seated crowd. “Because here, against the Batman and his allies, failure is not an option.”

~~

“I am worried.” Cassandra admitted on Day Fifty-Four. She was leaning against the counter behind Jason, who was washing dishes in the sink. Her eyes were on the living room, where Damian was acting something out for Stephanie with his stuffed lion.

“About?”

“You. Him.” Cassandra said, with a nod to Damian. “It’s been almost two months.”

“Yeah, and no one’s come after us. So.” Jason shrugged, handing her a plate to dry. “We’re golden.”

“But has he asked? Damian _loves_ Dick. Always has. And I have never heard him mention his absence once. Tim and Steph haven’t either.” Cassandra explained. “That doesn’t strike you as…odd?”

“He’s asked _me_. Just like the guys at work have.” Jason said. “I told Damian the truth, I told him I don’t know where Dick is.”

“And your coworkers?”

Jason spun around, reaching around Cassandra’s head to put a newly clean glass away. “I told them he left me.”

Cassandra frowned at how coldly Jason said that. How…emotionless he seemed to be.

“We are worried about you too,” Cassandra reminded.

Jason snorted, dunking his hands into the soapy water. “Why?”

“Because you suddenly have a…a…” Cassandra leaned forward. “Steph, what did you call it?”

“Liquor cabinet.” Steph answered. She glanced over her shoulder at Jason with a guilty smile. “Family of detectives, you think we wouldn’t pick up on the sudden staple of your grocery list?”

“Yes.” Cassandra flopped back. “We have noticed your drinking habits…change. And we wonder if that is…safe. For Damian.”

“What, you think I’m being a bad parent?” Jason snapped. He jerked his hand, and water splashed to the floor.

“No. _No_.” Cassandra shot back. “We were just wondering if…if you need time.”

“What the _fuck_ does that mean.”

“You lost your partner. The love of your life and Damian’s other caretaker. Suddenly…you are a single father again.” Cassandra paused to reach around Jason’s side, pulling his hands out of the water and spinning him towards him, wiping at his sudsy fingers with a towel. “It was a sudden…and maybe tragic…change. And we understand if you need time to collect yourself. If you need time to…to be alone.”

“Alone?”

“Steph and I will take Damian, if you would like us to. Give you the time to recover and adapt to your loss.” Cassandra sighed. “Maybe work on your…your…”

“Drinking problem.” Stephanie corrected.

“Yes.” Cassandra repeated. “Your drinking problem.”

And Jason couldn’t help but smile. His sister – because that’s what she was, that’s what both she and Stephanie were, to him – meant well. He knew she did. She was wrong, though. Because there was no problem. Not at all.

“Thanks, but no.” He tried, leaning forward, turning his hands to latch tightly onto her wrists. “I can’t…I know you mean well, but I already lost Dick, Cass. I can’t…losing Damian would be…I don’t want to be alone. I don’t _need_ to be alone. I need to be with my son.”

Cassandra stared up at him, searching his face. He just kept smiling, knowing it wasn’t perfect, knowing it was probably a little bit heartbroken.

“I’ll cut back on the booze, if it’s making you all nervous. Because you’re right, without Dick here, I’ve gotta be on my toes. And too much alcohol is not safe for Damian.” Jason said. “But we’re fine. _I’m_ fine.”

He wasn’t. He so _obviously_ wasn’t.

She knew she wouldn’t be able to pull Jason from this idea. Knew he would keep spitting the same half-truths at her until she agreed. But she couldn’t burn this bridge, couldn’t keep pushing, couldn’t make him angry. He’d cut them off, then. She knew he would, they _all_ knew he would – that’s why it was Steph and Cass here right now, for this vague attempt at an intervention, not Bruce and Tim.

After a moment, she sighed in resignation, let Jason drag her into a grateful embrace.

“Okay, Jason.”

~~

He watched from the rooftop, unaffected by the rain and wind billowing around him. Thunder crashed and lightning struck.

The boy was in bed asleep, Richard could see him curled up in his blankets, the slow rise and fall of his torso. His face was peaceful in the glow from the hallway light, and he ignored that warm twitch in his heart at the sight.

It didn’t matter.

(His last time here, that information-gathering mission had been a fluke. There was something wrong with him that night, and anything he felt had been a lie. He was sure of it.)

He could see the man in the kitchen, clearing off the table of plates and a pizza box. Dropping the plates and cups into the sink, and setting the box against a half-full trashcan, wiping off the old faded wood surface of crumbs and sauce.

The setting was perfect.

It was now or never.

Richard pulled the mask down across his face – the aspect of his uniform he forgotten the last time he was there. He shot his line across the alley’s gap, tugged at it to test its strength, then swung downwards, threading between the fire escape ladder and platform. He put all of his weight into his feet, shoving them through the weak glass of the living room window. The glass shattered on impact, and he slithered through the pane, landing gracefully on his feet.

“What the-”

The man spun around in surprise, just in time for Richard to lunge forward, hop across the back of the sofa and flip over the counter. He slashed his leg forward, pressing his booted heel against his target’s chest and kicking him to the ground. His target collapsed in a heap, and Richard straddled his chest.

“Jason Todd,” He growled, holding his knife against Jason’s throat. Jason’s arms were above his head, and his chest was still, watching the man sitting on top of him. “The Court of Owls has sentenced you to die.”

“Court of…” Jason Todd’s eyes widened, though almost instantly they narrowed in anger. “Well tell them they can kiss my _fucking ass_.”

He twisted, and bucked upwards, throwing Richard’s center of gravity. In his moment of unbalance, Jason swung upwards, fist connecting with his chin on a lucky punch. He swayed to the side, and felt Jason tense underneath him in preparation of a scramble.

Well that just wouldn’t do.

He caught himself on his free hand, spreading his fingers to dissipate his unsteady momentum, then put all strength into his opposite arm, lashing out and smacking the hilt of his blade against his target’s temple. Jason’s head jerked to the side, bounced harshly off the square doorknob of the bottom cabinet.

Blood was already dripping from his forehead when he rebounded back. He collapsed back to the floor, head ricocheting off the linoleum a few more times as his eyes rolled back.

He wasn’t unconscious, not completely, but it was good enough.

“Had to make it difficult.” Richard huffed, bringing his blade back around, nicking a small cut into the side of his throat. Blood instantly poured slowly out, mixing with the trickle coming from his skull. It wouldn’t kill him right away – which was what Richard had planned, as one last act of mercy – but rather cause him to bleed out over the next few hours, in agonizing pain. “I didn’t want to do that.”

Jason Todd’s lips moved, but no sound came out. His eyes flickered to half-lidded

Good.

Quickly, Richard rose to his feet, lifted his mask just enough so he could rub at the growing bruise on his chin.

Job done.

Mission accomplished.

He turned and stepped out of the kitchen.

_Leave no witnesses._

The child was not a witness, not really. But he was a loose end that needed to be tied. It was unfortunate, but necessary.

As he moved down the hall, he pulled his mask off completely. It was uncomfortable and he hated it. Perhaps once he returned successful, he could make a suggestion to the Court. Perhaps just simple eye masks would be better.

He paused in the child’s doorway, engulfing him in his shadow. Even in the darkness, the child looked relaxed. His lashes were thick, casting shadows on his skin even with the lack of light. His chubby cheeks were pressed against his pillow, causing his lips to remain awkwardly parted.

The poor thing.

He would make this quick. Painless. The son should not have to pay for the sins of the father. And this child deserved an instant death.

He moved to the edge of the bed, held the knife out against the boy’s throat.

But then he recalled his last time here, recalled the boy whispering hopefully, _“Didi?”_ and the affect it seemed to have on him. Then he remembered those florescent blue eyes, seeing the details of that tiny face for the first time, the déjà vu that washed over his brain as they stared at each other.

Then those dreaded flashback scenes hit him again. Eating at that old wooden table, laughing with this little boy, rubbing their noses together. Then, he was struck with what he tried to ignore, what he tried to push down in his soul and forget about, at least for the night.

He remembered that he loved this boy. He remembered he could never hurt him, not for anything.

A pause, and he wondered why.

Why did he love this boy? Why did he have foggy memories of being happy with this boy? Of this boy’s giggles and squeals, of holding his tiny hand and kissing his face?

Why did he care about him at all?

(Why him, and almost _nothing_ of the man he’d just beaten in the kitchen?)

Though, perhaps a better question was why was he pulling back his blade? Sheathing it in its holster? Why was he slowly reaching out, instead, to fix the boy’s blanket? _Why was he running his hand across the boy’s soft hair?_

The child’s face suddenly scrunched, and those bright blue eyes were blinking open. Richard felt his breath catch, his heart break, his mind push, near _demand_ , that he remembered.

_Why, why, why?!_

He felt his reality crack.

_Something is wrong. Something is so very wrong._

He began backing away from the bed, as the little boy sat up, rubbing at his eye, just like he was that night all those weeks ago. And those eyes practically glowed, as they locked onto Richard’s face.

This was a mistake.

This was all a terrible mistake.

“Didi?”

And just like before, Richard ran. Tore through the apartment and jumped back out the window he came through. But this time:

“Didi, wait!”

No. No, he had to get away. He had to leave.

But.

He couldn’t go back to the Court. Because he’d failed, because he didn’t complete his mission, and they’d be furious.

(Because they tried to erase his memories and apparently botched it, and right now he couldn’t trust them.)

His foot slipped when he jumped to the roof, and his heart stung as he heard the little boy still calling after him from the window.

~~

The dashboard of the car flashed a bright red, and Bruce lazily hit the button to answer it. “Talk to me.”

“Batman! He’s bleeding!” Damian’s screech was high and tinny. Full of tears and terror. “Baba needs help! _Baba needs help!!”_

Bruce’s stomach dropped. He hit another button, alerted every ally he had out that night to converge on the Todd abode, then hit another, calling for an ambulance.

“Sit tight, son.” And he knew Jason would lash out at him for the title later. “I’m on my way.”

~~

It was seven blocks away, when he slumped against the wall, dropped his head into his hands and pounded his knuckles against his temples.

Why. Why was he stopping. For weeks, for weeks he followed that man and that child. For weeks he knew he was going to kill them, knew _how_ he was going to end them both. For weeks, he was fine with that.

So why did everything slam to a halt when he got there. When he was staring these targets in the face – because he had to admit that too. It was lesser, but he hesitated with the man as well. He paused, filling his hesitation with that declaration for the Court. That wasn’t necessary, he didn’t have to do that. But he did. He gave Jason Todd that second to adapt, to act at all.

And when he cut his throat…there were other ways to do that. But he had…oh god, he had picked the _least_ lethal. The one method that would take so long, even if he had killed the child, if someone came to that home before, say, noon the next day, they could save him.

The mission wasn’t accomplished. Not at all.

He’d barely done anything.

And that child. That _stupid_ little child with the bright eyes and chubby face. The one with the hopeful stare and the beautiful laugh.

(Who loved coloring and animals. Who loved cupcakes and cookies, and hated asparagus and lemons. Who demanded to be the center of everyone’s attention when they were near him, and cared for his father more than anyone in the world – and why did he _know_ that?)

Who was that child that held such power over him? That could stop him in his tracks just by murmuring a stupid name like Didi? Who was Didi, to that little boy?

Who was that little boy to him?

(Was that man something to him, too?)

He leaned his head back against the wall, staring up into the rain. Could feel the answer pushing at the back of his mind, behind a wall he couldn’t quite break through.

Regardless, he wasn’t returning to the Court, he wasn’t going _anywhere_ , until he knew.

~~

“It was Didi.”

The four-year-old said it so matter-of-factly, as he sat royally on Jason’s hospital bed. They’d tried to move him near fifty times, but the child threw a fit every time. Even punched one of the nurses and tried to bite her fingers.

But they were professionals, and learned to work around him, even claimed he wasn’t the worst they’d ever had, and that it was actually kind of _cute_.

That’s Gotham for you.

But at the statement, Tim and Bruce glanced at each other. Barbara turned away, and the girls just looked sad.

“Didi…did this?” Bruce asked slowly, glancing towards Jason’s face. It was a painful sight, thick bandages across his forehead and throat, skin still pale as they worked on refilling his system with blood. The younger man was awake, barely, but didn’t react to the statement, at least not outwardly.

Damian scoffed. “No.” He rolled his eyes. “Didi was _there_. He tried to save Baba.”

Bruce looked to Jason again, and this time the man was shallowly shaking his head.

_Dick wasn’t there, Bruce. Damian’s lying._

“Did you see who hurt Baba?” Tim asked instead.

“Nope.” Damian sighed, picking at the meal left for Jason. “Just Didi, when he came in my room to tuck me in.”

Jason had closed his eyes now, turned his head away from the child sitting next to his hip.

“He was playing tag. That’s why he ran away.” Damian continued, stuffing the chocolate brownie into his mouth. “He went through the family room so I could find Baba. And get you to help him, Batman.”

Tim opened his mouth to correct him – _remember we don’t call him Batman when he’s not wearing the cape_ – but Bruce put a hand on his chest to stop him.

“Did Didi say why he wasn’t staying?” Bruce asked.

“No.” And Damian sounded sad, then. “He just looked…well, he looked scared. Like Baba gets when I fall off the swing-set at the park. Just like last time I saw him.”

“Like…” Bruce turned to Jason once more. “Like last time?”

Jason sighed in annoyance, turned his head back and reached weakly out to wrap his hand around Damian’s side. His voice was pained and croaky from disuse. “That was a dream, Dames. Remember?”

“Yeah,” Damian pursed his lips, wouldn’t return Jason’s gaze. “Sure.”

“So this one probably was, too.” Jason decided. “You dreamed about Didi, and when you woke up you went to the kitchen because you were getting water, right?”

Damian blinked, stared down at soda in his hands. “I _was_ thirsty. I do remember that.”

“See?” Jason ran his hand down Damian’s back. “Just another dream. Maybe we should cut back on the action movies we’re watching, baby. They’re getting to your imagination.”

“Yeah.” Damian repeated with a long sigh, still not looking up. “Maybe.”

Bruce decided it was the end of questioning, that they would convince Damian to leave later, and he’d talk to Jason alone. Figure out what he remembered, though he already admitted it wasn’t much.

Instead, he shifted to Jason’s side, ran a hand over Jason’s greasy hair – to which Jason frowned at, but Bruce didn’t care – and asked, “Do you need anything, son?”

Jason smiled weakly, letting out a light snort as he glanced towards Stephanie and Cassandra at the end of his bed. “A drink would be nice.”

~~

The attacked had happened on the night of Day Sixty-Three. On Day Sixty-Six, Jason was released from the hospital. On Day Sixty-Seven, Damian was taken back to school by Cassandra.

It was nice. Auntie Cass was one of his favorites, and she always listened. She even got the goodbye routine right, after Damian had spent their whole walk to the school explaining it to her. It wasn’t exactly the same as what Baba did, but that was okay. He wasn’t going to correct her. She needed to get back to the apartment anyway. That’s why she was there, after all, to help Baba while he recovered.

School was normal. A little boring, but that’s what it always was. He could see the teachers staring at him a lot, though. Whispering behind their hands. He didn’t like it. Even some of his classmates seemed curious, though only asked if he had been sick the past few days.

Otherwise, the day was normal. They had their normal lessons, they colored their normal pictures, played their normal games, even had their normal naptime and recess.

It was recess that was different.

He was playing with Nell, throwing the big rubber ball back and forth. It was a silly game, they were trying to knock each other over with the sheer force of throwing the ball. Thus far, Nell was actually winning, and Damian was getting a little annoyed with her.

She had won last time, and now it was his turn!

At one point, though, Nell missed her mark. Accidentally bouncing the ball off the blacktop at his feet. It flew up into the air, over his head, then landed in the grass, rolling over the fence.

“You’re closer. You get it!” Nell called. Damian groaned, had half a mind to yell at her to get it. But they were talking about manners lately, and both Baba and Miss Elizabeth always said yelling isn’t very nice.

He spun around, trotting to the fence, grumbling the whole way. He bent to pick up the ball, and when he stood, glanced out across the street. Recess was at the end of the day, and sometimes Baba liked to pick him up early as a surprise. He wondered if Auntie Cass would do that today. Or if Baba would himself, in proof that he was as okay as he told the family he was.

But it wasn’t Aunt Cass or Baba standing across the street.

It was Didi.

Didi looked strange, though. His skin was pale and his face was blank. He was in all black, like the costume he wore when he became Nightwing, with a tan trench coat overtop of it. Damian realized it was the same costume he saw him in the last two times, those two times Baba swore he was dreaming. It was like he didn’t have any other clothes, which was a lie because Damian knew he had a whole closet full back at their apartment. If only he’d just come home, he could…

Didi was staring at him, so Damian did the only thing he could do. He stared back.

“Damian!” Nell shouted behind him. “Hurry up!”

Damian blinked, Didi didn’t.

And if he had his way, he would have jumped the fence. Or, at least, snuck out the gate a few feet away. Run across the street and throw himself into Didi’s arms. Demand he come home, cry if he had to. Ask him where he’d been, ask him why he and Baba were fighting, or why Baba didn’t care anymore, didn’t talk about him anymore. Ask him _what is going on, Didi?!_

But no, he knew he couldn’t. Last time he did that, he wasn’t allowed to go out for recess for two weeks, and both Didi and Baba had to have a meeting with Miss Elizabeth.

But also.

Didi seemed odd. It was like Baba had said a few weeks ago. Didi’s favorite thing was kisses and hugs. So for him to not do that right off the bat, or in this case, for him to not smile and wave and acknowledge him at all, was weird.

Maybe Baba was right. Maybe this wasn’t Didi at all.

Suddenly, Damian felt nervous.

“Damian, come _on!_ ” Nell yelled.

Damian didn’t run across the street. Didn’t even cause a scene. He just pushed the ball to one hand, and waved absently at Didi.

It took a second, but Didi slowly waved back.

And Damian went back to his game.

~~

He had to figure it out. He had to _know_.

He loved this child for a reason. And there were only a finite number of options as to why.

But standing there, watching from the shadows as all the children ran across the playground. As the child played with a little girl, as he stared across the fence and waved at him – he thought maybe. Just maybe.

Maybe that reason wasn’t so hard to figure out after all.

~~

“You’ve got a problem, man.”

Jason sighed, pouring the whiskey anyway. “Save it, Roy.”

“No, I’m not saving it, Jay.” Roy snapped, yanking the glass away. “From one father to another, I’m trying to save your _kid_.”

Jason shoved his tongue in his cheek, bit down on it. Hard.

“And you know I understand.” Roy’s voice was instantly quiet, almost soothing. “Jaybird, you know I was a thousand times worse than you are right now. Because you’re still in the stage where keeping it a secret is easy. You’re still in the stage where people can turn a blind eye. And I’m just trying to nip this in the bud. Because I love you, man. And I don’t…” He paused, and Jason sensed the emotion building in Roy’s heart. “I don’t want what happened to me happen to you.”

“You beat your addiction before you lost Lian.” Jason countered. “There is _no correlation_ between the two.”

“And you can lay all the facts to that point out on a table in front of me, that doesn’t mean my brain will be able to believe it.” Roy smiled, and it was sad. “But that’s a conversation for another day, maybe over coffee.”

“So what,” Jason drawled, as he heard the doorknob of the front door turn. “Was this conversation supposed to be some sort of intervention?”

“No. Well, yes, sort of, but.” Roy admitted. “I just wanted to state a fact.”

Jason watched as the front door opened, as Damian walked in, followed by Cassandra, who was carrying his sweatshirt. “And what fact is that?”

“I’ll take him from you.” Roy whispered under Damian’s excited squeal, as he ran across the room, oversized backpack bouncing against his back, and into Kory’s arms. The alien princess lifted him easily, tossed him gently in the air before bringing him back down to leave a trail of kisses on his cheek. “If you don’t get this…this shit-” Roy held up the glass. “-under control. I will not hesitate to come back here, pack him a bag, and take him over to Wayne Manor.”

And Jason could almost taste the iron in his mouth, as his teeth dug into his cheek. He felt his fist tightening, felt himself losing control, wanting to punch Roy right in his goddamn face.

“Losing Dick was hard, I get that. But just remember, Jay,” Roy hummed, dumping the whiskey into the sink before backing out of the kitchen, heading over to greet the arrivals. Damian was already calling for him – him and Jason both. “You keep this up? You’ll lose a whole lot more than just _him_.”

~~

On Day Seventy-Two, Jason cracked.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He asked, standing from the dinner table. “You’ve been awfully quiet the last few days.”

Damian just shrugged, staring down at his plate. He had been fine when they had guests, when Cassandra was there. But Cassandra had left the day after Roy and Kory stopped by, and since then he had gone into an almost constant silence.

“Now, come on.” Jason almost chuckled, turning to the counter. “You know that’s not an acceptable answer.”

“Well,” Damian murmured. “You won’t believe me.”

“Since when do I not believe you?”

And it was almost a pout. “You _never_ believe me.”

Jason smiled. Oh, to be four years old and so misunderstood. He leaned the plate over the trashcan, dumping out the remains of his vegetables. “Try me.”

Damian hesitated another thirty or so seconds, and then:

“I saw Didi the other day.”

Jason froze, staring into the depths of the trashcan. Not this again.

“Dames-”

“I saw him!” Damian shrieked, slamming his tiny fist against the table. His plastic cup of water fell over.

Jason glanced up, a harsh frown on his lips.

_“Damian-”_

“I wasn’t sleeping! I wasn’t tired! It wasn’t a dream!” Damian continued, still smacking his hand off the table. Everything clattered. “I was at recess and I saw him! _I saw my Didi!”_

Jason didn’t think. He dropped his plate into the trashcan too, stomped across the kitchen and grabbed Damian’s hands. Damian tried to pull back but Jason tightened his grip. “Damian, stop!”

“No!” Damian cried. “No, I told you! I told you, you wouldn’t believe me!”

“Of course I don’t.” Jason snapped. And it just slipped out. He regretted it as soon as it was out of his mouth, wished he could go back in time. “You couldn’t have seen Didi, because Didi is _probably dead_.”

Damian jerked to a halt, then. His big blue eyes tearful and surprised.

“W-what?” His voice was so quiet, and so scared. Jason instantly released his hands, took a step back. No, no, he hadn’t meant to say that. He didn’t mean to- “Baba, what did you…”

“Go to your room.” Was all Jason could say, as he closed his eyes, ran a hand over his forehead. “Damian, just go to your room. Right now.”

And he could practically hear Damian’s quivering lip. He kept his eyes closed, even turned away as he heard the chair scrape back. Heard the patter of tiny quick feet, the watery hitches of Damian’s breathing, and the slam of his son’s bedroom door.

~~

Damian refused to open his door the rest of the night. And even when Jason opened it around bedtime to check on him, he was fast asleep in his bed. The paths down his cheeks made it obvious he had cried himself to sleep.

The next morning, Jason was woken up early by a phone call. Mrs. Estrada from down the hall. Damian had appeared at her door, claiming Jason was sick and asked if she could take him to and pick him up from school. She was calling to say she took care of it, and to ask if Jason wanted her to bring him any soup.

God, he hated how independent the kid was.

He declined, but to keep up with the charade, took the day off from work. He cleaned the apartment instead, reorganized the movies and Damian’s toy chest. Had a beer every hour and a half – not enough to be drunk, but to keep that numb buzz going. Didn’t think he was going to get through the day without it.

When Damian came home, he wouldn’t look at Jason. Just scurried off to his room while Jason thanked Mrs. Estrada for her help. After saying goodbye to the woman, Jason shuffled down to Damian’s room, was almost surprised to find a drawing already taped to the door. It was obviously a portrait of Jason, but the drawing was frowning, and there was a big red X across his face.

_No Babas allowed._

He deserved that.

Neither of them ate dinner that night, though Jason kept sliding small things under Damian’s door like granola bars, juice boxes and apple slices. He doesn’t know if his gifts were accepted or eaten. He could only hope.

When it once again rolled around to Damian’s bedtime. Jason knocked on the door, the shuffle from inside told him Damian was still awake, and most likely hiding in his bed – his favorite hiding spot, right under the covers.

“Damian?” He called gently. “I just…you don’t have to open the door. I know you’re mad. But I just…I want to tell you I’m sorry, okay? Baba’s really sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things yesterday. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

There was no answer.

“I love you, baby.” He sighed instead. “Sleep tight.”

He turned into the bathroom, then. Remembered he hadn’t showered since the night before. Kept the door cracked, just in case. In case Damian forgave him, in case he had a bad dream. In case he had a booboo, whatever.

Damian never came into the bathroom, thought Jason could have sworn he heard a door open, then immediately close. It wasn’t the front door, though. That was locked, unlike the night before, and he knew Damian couldn’t reach or operate bolts.

When he came out of the bathroom, he couldn’t help but pause, let a small smile grace his face.

The frowning, crossed out Jason picture had been taken down.

He peeked into the room, found Damian fast asleep once more, empty snack wrappers all around his bed. The picture from the door was amongst them, crinkled and torn into pieces.

Jason moved into the room, picked up all the trash, then left a kiss against Damian’s forehead. When he made it back to his own bed, he was surprised to find another drawing on his pillow. This one of him again, only he was smiling, being hugged by Damian. They were surrounded by multicolored hearts.

He laughed, gently placed the picture on the nightstand and got in bed.

~~

Being forgiven by his four-year-old didn’t keep the nightmares at bay.

This time he was on a beach. Endless, it looked like, and still alone.

There was a small island about a half-mile out in the water. Looked more like a pitcher’s mound than an island, really. Dick was standing on the island, Damian cradled gently in his arms.

Jason called to them, could _feel_ himself calling to them, could _hear_ himself calling to them, although his own shout sounded far away. He doesn’t know if Dick heard him, as the man kept rocking Damian calmly back and forth, spinning slowly, like he sometimes used to in real life, when Damian was sick or had his own nightmare.

And then Dick smiled.

It was dark, and his teeth were bloodstained. His eyes suddenly hollowed, turned black, and his fingers were claws, digging into Damian’s shoulder.

Tenderly, he leaned down, sheathing those deadly teeth to press a kiss to Damian’s forehead.

Then he tossed him carelessly into the water.

The splash was huge, like a bomb had just gone off. The water bubbled for a few seconds, and then went terrifyingly still. Damian never reemerged.

“Baby,” Dick – the monster Dick – called sweetly. “Come back, baby.”

A seagull cawed overhead.

“Okay.” Dick laughed, like this was all a big game. “Didi’s coming to get you now.”

Slowly, he stepped off the island, bouncing lower and lower like he was on a set of stairs, until he too was underwater and out of sight. And just like Damian, there were a few seconds of churning, of bubbles bursting here and there, and then the water went still, like it’d never been bothered at all.

The wind blew, but it wasn’t wind at all. It was Roy’s voice, echoed over and over, layered on top of each other.

_“You’ll lose a whole lot more than just him.”_

Jason turned to the side, was going to run down the beach, when he saw a woman there. Just like his last nightmare, she was wearing a plain white mask. She had been watching the scene too, but now spun her gaze slowly to Jason. Jason, who was feeling anger well up in his heart, because he knew. He knew it was this woman who did that, who hurt his lover, hurt his _family_ -

She tsked, and shook her head. “Such a shame.”

Jason took a furious step towards her, ready to ring her neck and-

-his eyelids flew open.

He wasn’t screaming this time, though could feel his heart hammering, could feel that his breath was short. He glanced to the side, saw Damian’s new picture still sitting on his nightstand.

_It wasn’t real_ , he told himself as he sat up, jerked his legs to the floor. It was then that he felt the sweat roll down his chest. _But I better go check on him anyway._

On Day Seventy-Three, Jason completed the eight steps it took to get to Damian’s doorway. On Day Seventy-Three, he lurched to a stop on the ninth step. On Day Seventy-Three, or potentially the early hours of Day Seventy-Four, he found his son wasn’t in his bed, but rather being held by a man in all black, being rocked lightly back and forth.

On Day Seventy-Three – or maybe Seventy-Four – Jason Todd saw that Dick Grayson had come home.

~~

Richard had heard him coming. Heard the squeak of the man’s bed, and the nine steps he took after. Even after he heard the gasp, it took him a second to look up. To look away from the cherub face of the boy in his arms.

“D…Dick?”

The name was a whisper, and a question – and confirmed what Richard already hypothesized. Those names Jason Todd’s coworkers said all those weeks ago. Dames and Dickie.

Dames was the boy in his arms. Dickie was him.

Damian and Richard. Damian and Dick.

And Jason.

The Court…he couldn’t confirm it, not right now. But the Court…they’d lied to him. Batman did not steal him away. Jason Todd did not hold him captive. He came willingly, he _stayed_ willingly. And he knew, because… _because_ …

He looked up at Jason Todd, face blank and eyes misty.

“This is my son.”

Jason blinked, lips still parted. There was an ache in his eyes, a sadness. A longing that Richard could feel in his own heart. He held that man once, almost like he was holding this child now.

(Because he remembered more, in his days since he was last here. He got a few more fragments of memory, and this time they weren’t all of the child. They were of this man, of a family in a big house. Of love and happiness.)

Suddenly, Jason’s mouth clacked shut, and agony burned in his eyes.

“No, he’s not.” Jason hissed, stomping forward. His arms lashed out, reaching for Damian. Richard spun away, blocking Jason from getting his hands on the child. Jason didn’t fight him on it though, not with the threat of Damian being dropped a very real danger. “Give him to me, dammit. Or put him back in his bed.”

Richard didn’t listen, turning his attention back to the four-year-old. The boy hadn’t stirred this time, when he came into the room. Hadn’t moved as Richard pulled the blanket back and lifted him from the mattress. In fact, he seemed to snuggle into Richard’s chest, gave out a light, content sigh as he did.

(And it made him happy – he remembered it used to make him _so happy_. Holding this little boy. Walking around the apartment – this very apartment – and rocking him to sleep.)

He felt Jason loom over his shoulder. Felt the tension and fear in the other man’s frame.

(Remembered it wasn’t always that way. Remembered holding this little boy, and being held by the man behind him. Remembered soft pecks being trailed down his neck as he hummed the little one a lullaby. The three of them, a content little unit. The three of them against the world.)

“This is my son.” He repeated instead, a smile threatening to break off his face. He glanced up at Jason, who was still frowning, still looked so serious – and that was so different from his faint memories of laughter and kisses. “This is your son, too.”

Jason nodded silently, and Dick could see the gears turning. He was trying to keep calm, trying to piece together the evidence he had, which was next to nothing, trying not to cry.

“Dick, is it…is this really you?” Jason’s voice sounded almost wrecked. “Are you real right now?”

“Yes.” Richard answered carefully, as if the wrong word might break this fragile reality.

“Where were you?” Jason asked quietly, desperately, wanting to reach up, stroke his fingers across that face and…no. No. “What happened to you?”

“The Court of Owls.” Richard shrugged, returning to rocking slightly, ducking away from Jason’s shadow. He felt Jason’s gaze follow him as he paced around the room. Damian tried to roll in his arms, ended up flopping his hand against Dick’s chest, fingers digging into the slack of his uniform. “I think…I think they tried to take my memories of you. Of our…our life together.”

Jason continued to just watch him.

“They claimed you kidnapped me. Held me hostage for years. They sent me to kill you. And I planned on doing it. I almost _did_.” Richard glanced up, an apology clear in his eyes. “But, in the end, I couldn’t.”

He could see Jason looking him over, those green eyes hesitating on the knife on Richard’s hip. He recognized it, then. Richard knew he did, when his surprised eyes flew back up to his face.

“That was…”

“I couldn’t do it.” Richard muttered sadly. “But I decided I couldn’t go back to the Court until I figured out why.”

“…And did you?”

“I believe so. I could not kill either of you because he is my son.” Richard surmised. Then he grinned softly, eyes lighting in warmth. “And because _you_ are my husband.”

~~

Jason just couldn’t stop staring.

It was Dick, through and through. His hair was longer, his skin was paler and he was _so thin_. But it was him. He could see it in the emotion in his eyes, in the care of his hands, and the sway of his arms. Could hear it in the tone of his voice, and the fondness in his smile.

It was Dick.

But it _wasn’t_ Dick.

Because, apparently, he didn’t remember.

Anything.

Jason grinned back, and felt a laugh bubbling out of his throat as he sat on the bed. A genuine one, a painful one. “We weren’t so official.”

“No?”

“No, we just…” Jason sighed. Ran a hand through his hair as Dick cautiously approached. “We just loved each other.”

Dick frowned, shifted Damian further up against his neck. “You say that as if we don’t anymore.”

Yeah, that was Dick. That was Dick Grayson all over. Ever the optimist. Ever the hopeful.

“I mean, you stabbed me in the throat. Most people take that as a sign.” Jason whispered, refusing to look up, refusing to meet those eyes. So much had to happen, now. Bruce needed to be informed, Dick needed to be rushed to the cave, needed to be tested and _re_ tested, and…

And there was no guarantee Dick was actually staying. He hadn’t the last two times, why would he now?

Jason’s heart tightened.

He couldn’t…

No. If this was real, if this was actually _happening_ …

He couldn’t lose him again.

And he didn’t care. He didn’t care if this was a trick, or if Dick was some sort of monster, or a killer now. He couldn’t let him go, he never _could_ let him go, that’s how Dick edged himself into his and Damian’s life the first time around. That’s why the last almost three months had been so _fucking hard_.

But it was dangerous, because Jason knew literally nothing. He didn’t know if Dick had been harmed, if Dick was being controlled, or if Dick had really jumped to the dark side or not. Just…all he knew was that Dick was missing for weeks and suddenly…suddenly he _wasn’t_. Suddenly, he was standing in Damian’s bedroom, cradling him like a newborn, like he’d done it all his life, like he never left at all.

And had minimal memory of ever doing it before.

So yeah. He knew just about nothing. Just that Dick was back, and he wanted to do nothing more but grab his face and kiss him.

It was _so_ dangerous. And he shouldn’t suggest it. Shouldn’t even be _thinking_ it. He should be yanking Damian out of that man’s arms, should be knocking Dick unconscious, tying him up, calling Bruce, calling the cops, calling _anybody_. He should not be making offers, not be making negotiations, not be-

“Dick?” Jason found himself standing, slowly. Found himself stepping forward, crowding Dick’s space. He saw Dick’s lips part in anticipation, eyes darting curiously down Jason’s face. “Are you going to leave again? Go back to the Court?”

“I…” Dick’s eyes flew back up, and those ocean blue irises looked _terrified_.

“Because you don’t have to.” Jason murmured quickly, and he felt Dick’s arm shiver as he ran his fingers up the bicep supporting Damian’s head.

“I don’t want to.” Dick barely breathed his admission, as if, if he said it too loud, someone would swoop in and take them all out. Jason noticed his grip on Damian’s body tightened. “I don’t want to go back to the Court of Owls.”

“Then don’t.” Jason hummed, shifting his hand to run it across Damian’s hair. The child grumbled, just slightly. “You can stay here, if you’d like.”

“…Really?” And there was a desperateness to that tone. A terror, a plead that, against all rationality of the situation, against all sense of safety, Jason wanted to bend down and make the other man forget he ever had. Just like he used to.

_Just what memories do you have, Dick?_ “Really.”

“…I would like that.” Dick returned just as quietly, and Jason couldn’t help but smirk at the subtleness with which Dick leaned forward. Maybe he remembered a little more than he let on. Instantly, he looked back down at Damian. “I would like that very much.”

_Me too_ , Jason thought greedily, felt his tongue dart across his own lips.

“Good. Settled then.” Jason said instead, taking a step back and releasing Dick’s arm. Dick’s lips seemed to purse with a pout. “I’ll go get you some blankets.”

~~

They slept in Damian’s room that night. Dick on the bed, curled protectively around the four-year-old, Jason on the floor, propped against the side of the mattress.

Though, if Jason were honest, the only one who actually slept was Damian. The other two stayed up and…talked. Not about a lot, just small things, like the future sleeping arrangements, Dick’s clothes, when Batman would be called. Jason tried to ask a few questions about what the Court of Owls had done to him, but Dick seemed reluctant to even think about it. When sleep almost overtook Jason completely, he felt himself starting to admit just how much he missed Dick, and how much it shattered him.

He stopped that line of discussion in its tracks, of course.

Mostly, though, they spent the time awkwardly staring at each other, and at the child between them.

“What should I call you?” Dick asked around dawn. “I mean, I know your name. It’s Jason Todd, but…”

“Jay.” Jason yawned, reaching out and sliding his fingers into Damian’s hand. “You called me…you _can_ call me Jay.”

“Alright.” Dick paused, rolled to glance out the window at the rising sun. And even pale, Jason felt his breath catch at how beautiful the morning colors were against Dick’s skin. Dick suddenly frowned, rolled back and buried his face against Damian’s hair. “The Court…”

“What about them?”

“They might…I left and never came back. I didn’t complete the mission, and now I don’t plan to. They might come after me.” And Jason didn’t know why he was saying it. That was a fact he already tackled in his own head, was planning on going over it with Bruce, and not a second before that. Dick’s eyes glanced up, fierce as he locked onto Jason’s. “But I will not let them hurt you. I will not them anywhere near you or Damian. I promise. I swear on my _life_.”

“Yeah, alright, simmer down.” Jason drawled. Slowly, he sighed, leaned his head into the crook of his elbow against the mattress. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll…we’ll go over all that stuff in the morning.”

“…Okay.” And Jason closed his eyes when he felt Dick’s fingers brush against his, when he felt Dick’s hand cover both his and Damian’s. “Okay.”

~~

It turned out, morning came forty-five later.

They both woke up to a shriek, to the mattress bouncing and Damian jumping on Dick’s torso.

“Didi!” Damian yelled happily, slapping at Dick’s chest until his eyes blinked open. “You’re home! You came _home!_ ”

“I…” Dick couldn’t get a word out before Damian dropped down, sprawled across his chest and squeezed at his neck. Slowly, Dick wrapped a hand around his back, rubbing it gently as he turned his gaze to a sleepy Jason. He smiled sympathetically, almost peacefully. Almost like he did before. “I guess I did.”

Jason returned the grin, and said, “You still like coffee, Dick?”

_“Yes.”_ Dick groaned gratefully.

Jason laughed, standing and cracking his back. “I’ll go get it started.”

~~

He could hear Damian babbling to Dick as he poured the coffee, telling him all about school and drawings and “Baba thought you were dead, he told me so, just two days ago!”

Jason smiled, but sighed, pausing as he stared down at the dark drinks.

He could wait. He could do it this afternoon. Hell, do it _tomorrow_. He was Dick enough. And sure, Jason didn’t feel one-hundred-percent safe, or one-hundred-percent sure – but it was a solid eighty-nine-percent and that was enough, right?

One day. He just wanted his family back – no matter how fractured – for _one day_.

He found himself dutifully reaching for his cell phone anyway, hitting Bruce’s number. And as it rang against his ear, he blindly reached for the cabinet, and poured a bit of whiskey into his own mug.

~~

Bruce came right away, Cassandra in tow. Their patriarch seemed a little perturbed, though, when he arrived and saw Damian sitting on Dick’s lap watching cartoons. Dick, who hadn’t changed out of that strange black catsuit, who was still wearing those deadly knives on his hips.

Jason didn’t get a chance to explain, though, that Damian refused to leave his side. Let them figure it out themselves when Cassandra rushed over to pick him up, only to be kicked and declined with a whiny moan.

In the end, despite Bruce’s original plan of just taking Dick, all of them were bustled to the car, Damian happily between Dick and Jason, holding their hands as they strolled out of the apartment building.  Bruce wasn’t completely okay with that – his Bat-senses were tingling and all, and he didn’t trust Dick as far as he could punch him, not right now, now around the youngest of their brood – but Jason was. If only because Dick wouldn’t stop smiling when he looked at Damian, when he held Damian’s hand or picked him up. And Jason could pretend, if only for a moment, that everything’s okay. That his family wasn’t ripped apart, that his lover wasn’t taken and hurt, and he didn’t spend the last three months stuck between nightmares and a bottle.

Jason’s life was full of hard denials. What was one more?

They were in the cave all day. They took blood and x-rays, interviewed and interrogated, ran physical tests and mental tests. It was exhausting for Jason to _watch_ , he could only imagine how it was for Dick himself.

They timed it perfectly, though, to when Damian was taking his nap in Jason’s arms to ask about his memories.

He explained he didn’t know what happened, just that he woke up one day without a clear recollection of anything before that moment, was taken into a room of people with masks who told him that he’d been kidnapped. That he was a member of the Court of Owls who had been taken by the Batman. They fed him stories, flipped the faint recollection he _did_ have of them into terrible moments that he had no choice but to believe, until he hated the Batman and his allies as much as the Court did.

He said those memories didn’t start to affect them until he broke into the Todd apartment to learn the layout. Said he brushed off the flashes of moments with Jason, assumed they were just instances of manipulation on the other’s part, but that it was Damian’s gentle call of _Didi_ that began to crack whatever spell the Court had cast on him.

After that, everything turned into a moment of brief recollection. Walking down the block, the garage Jason worked at, the loud, crude things his coworkers shouted, the playground at the park. He tried to brush it off just as the fact that he had been there once upon a time, whether under duress or not.

When he tried to kill them, he claimed that’s when he began to realize that the memories he had were perhaps not as the Court told him they were. That there were more emotions between him and Jason than just captor and captive. He didn’t realize it until he was in Damian’s room of course, after he’d almost completed the job in the first place, but still. It was then, regardless.

Jason had to turn away during this part of the interrogation, lean his head sadly against Damian’s. God, this hurt. Hearing the trials Dick had to go through hurt. Hearing that Dick almost _murdered Damian in his sleep_ just _hurt_.

The rest of it Jason already knew. That Dick began to doubt the Court, then, vowed to find out why he hesitated that night. The recognition that Damian was his son, and through that, that Jason was his lover.

“I don’t remember _being_ either. A father or a partner.” Dick finished with, and he sounded sad. Jason could feel the other’s eyes burning into the back of his neck. “I just know that I _am_. I just know that that’s what the Court tried to take from me.”

~~

“So it all checks out?” Jason asked around a squirming Damian, who wanted to get down, but wanted Jason to come with him to…wherever he wanted to go. Probably the weapons cabinet. He was his mother’s son after all.

“It all checks out.” Bruce confirmed. “That’s him.”

“But… _not_ , right?” Jason sighed. “Because he doesn’t remember.”

“No.” Bruce agreed, giving his own sigh as he handed Damian a batarang – a dull one, a prototype kept around solely for this purpose. “But if these results are anything to go by…he has the capacity to. Those memories don’t seem to be lost, per say, just…hidden.”

“Is there a way we can speed up the process?” Jason asked, nodding absently as Damian waved the new toy in his face. “Give him a drug or something that will force those walls down?”

“In theory, I suppose. It might crash his system, though. Be too much at once. And I don’t know about you, but I’m not…” Bruce slumped back in the chair, looking old in the glow of the computer. “I don’t want to risk that.”

_Oh yeah,_ Jason thought. _I forgot. I wasn’t the only one who lost him._

“So, then. What’s the next step?”

Bruce paused then, smiled softly as Damian made sound effects between them, pretending to throw and catch the batarang, voice low and growly as he muttered things, pretending to be Batman himself. And Jason sometimes forgot that fact, that Damian was still actually _Bruce’s_ flesh and blood, not his.

Not that that changed anything, of course. They both knew that.

“Well. That’s complicated. But ultimately up to you, I guess.” Bruce admitted. “He doesn’t remember, and while none of the tests showed any sort of drug controlling his systems, that doesn’t mean he might not still be working against us. But I can see you already know that.”

“I know it’s been a while, B, but I still worked with you, once upon a time.” Jason laughed bitterly. “And you know me and my trust issues. That goes for him too, right now.”

Bruce nodded slowly. “But we have options. He can stay here, if you don’t feel safe with him at your apartment or around Damian, while we work to recover his memories and take down the Court. Or, Damian can stay here instead, if you think that would be better.”

“…Hm.”

“Or you can all go home. Granted, if you do that, Jason. You’ll have to take time off work. Damian’s school will be letting out soon, and with the threat of the Court coming after Dick or anyone around him, I advise you don’t let either of them out of your sight, or alone together.” Bruce explained. “All three of you could stay here, too, of course. We can make up rooms for you all.”

“Is going back to Talia’s an option, too?” Jason asked sarcastically, grabbing Damian’s arm when he saw Damian was going to throw the makeshift weapon at Bruce’s head.

Bruce knew it was a joke, Jason could see that, but he still said, “It’s your decision here, Jason.”

And Jason knew that was hard for Bruce to say, because it wasn’t, or shouldn’t have been. Because Damian was his biological son, and his safety was Bruce’s number one priority. Not to mention, Bruce still felt a need to prove his love for Jason, too, and protection tended to be his go-to way of showing that. Not to mention Dick, just as a whole.

It was tough for Bruce to give up control, on any of them. So the fact that he _was_ , was a huge step forward, and Jason respected that.

He looked across the cave, to where Dick was standing alone amongst the memorial cases, where his old, far-too-flamboyant Nightwing costume was on display – more as a joke than in honor – next to Jason’s old Robin digs, and sighed.

It wasn’t Dick, not really. And he couldn’t treat him as if he was. At least not for now. It would be different, things would be hard. But Dick was there physically, and that was a tiny piece of the happiness Jason once claimed as his own, and he would grab that piece, cling to it as if his life depended on it.

Because, let’s be real. It probably did.

“I want to go home, Bruce.” He decided quietly. “I want us all to go home.”

~~

It was hard.

Dick was still able. He could still clean and bathe and laugh and cook, though that last one just barely. To anyone on the outside, it’d look like Dick Grayson had just returned from a three-month trip, no big deal. That their happy little family was whole once more.

But that wasn’t it at all.

Jason always caught Dick staring. At things, mostly. Things he should recognize. Things he should know how to use, or what they’re for. And Jason thought, maybe Dick was aware he was _supposed_ to know what these things are, because sometimes he would just look so sad as he stared.

And it was painful, mostly because it was a habit. Jason would see him struggling and move in to help, or do it himself. The symptom of being the parent to a four-year-old, really. But most of the time Dick wouldn’t let him. Would jump in surprise or push him away.

“No.” He’d say. “I’ve got it.”

It was so clear that he _didn’t_.

There was progress, though. Sometimes, if Dick stared at an item long enough, something would come to him. And he’d grin like he used to, set right to work completing whatever task he needed to.

Sometimes he wouldn’t though. And he would just look so lost. So heartbroken.

And Jason’s soul would hurt, then, in those moments and he’d find himself involuntarily reaching for a bottle. _Any_ bottle, he didn’t care. Wouldn’t look to see what it was until the drink was in the glass.

He’d hate himself as he gulped it down – because isn’t that what he’d said? What he’d begged to any god who would listen? _I’ll stop drinking if you give me the love of my life back. I promise. I swear._

And here, now. He was just drinking _more_.

Jason couldn’t handle this.

But what made it worse? Damian _could_. Damian _did_. Damian took everything in stride, and never asked questions. When Dick struggled, Damian stepped in, explaining everything calmly, like he were the parent and Dick was the child. And when Dick succeeded in a simple task, Damian would clap and dance. Give Dick a sticker from the pack he somehow stole from his preschool.

Dick reveled in it. As he should. He deserved it, they both did.

And he knew he should be in there. Should be sharing these moments with them. Reward Dick’s efforts with kisses on his cheek, with a hand on his hip, with a soft word or two, for only Dick’s ears to hear.

But he couldn’t. He kept his distance. Because, yes, that was Dick. But that _wasn’t_ Dick. Not _his_ Dick. He couldn’t kiss him, because that wasn’t the man he was in love with. Wasn’t the man he adored to the deepest, darkest depths of his soul. He couldn’t wrap a gentle arm around him, or nuzzle his cheek either, because it felt too much like cheating.

That wasn’t the man he could tell anything to, that wasn’t the man he entertained thoughts of one day _marrying_.

It was just a shell of that man, and Jason was still trying to figure out if it was better or worse than Dick being completely gone or not.

Besides, these were some of his favorite moments, watching Dick and Damian interact. Smile at each other and play. For Damian to climb over Dick’s shoulders and for Dick to pick him up and swing him in a wide circle.

In these moments he could pretend everything was okay, and he didn’t want to mess that feeling up.

Because for now, it was enough.

And at the same time, it wasn’t at all.

~~

Richard remembered the bed. For some reason, that was one of the most vivid things.

He remembered its comfort. Remembered lying between those sheets, feeling warm and loved. Remembered laughing and hugging and kisses.

But more than that – he could remember specifics. He remembered being tackled, and hit in the face with a stuffed animal as the rising sun broke through the window. He remembered jumping on that bed, tying that comforter around his neck and pretending to be Superman. He remembered playing hide and seek, hiding there with Damian, giggling quietly while Jason counted in the family room.

He remembered soothing tears, both adult’s and child’s. He remembered his own being wiped away.

He remembered being kissed. Of kissing. Running a hand over Jason’s face. His chest, his back, his legs. Holding him tightly, promising to never let go.

He remembers being surrounded. Pulling that ugly plaid comforter over their heads and just staring at each other. Not speaking, not touching. Just breathing, just watching. He remembers, in that dingy red glow, Jason’s bright green eyes. Deep as the mountains and as open as the skies.

He remembers saying, “I love you.” then, on that bed. He remembers the blanket above them rustling with Jason’s surprised exhale.

He remembers the moment being comically broken, by a two-year-old waking up from a nap, calling for his Baba.

Dick always smiled, when he thought of those sprouting memories from the bed in the far bedroom, some of the only ones he had.

Especially now, when he was sleeping on the couch, and watching Jason go sadly to that bed alone.

~~

“Hey, Didi?” Damian asked a few days later, dutifully lining up his animal toys between them.

“Hm?”

“Wanna know something?”

Dick glanced up at the clatter of glass in the kitchen, where Jason and Alfred were speaking quietly, making the four of them lunch. “Sure.”

“I love you.” Damian stated. Before Dick’s gaze could drop down to him, he watched both Jason and Alfred freeze, glance over almost instantly. His eyes caught Jason’s and they stared at each other. “…Didi, did you hear me?”

“W-what?”

“I said I love you.” Damian repeated, matter-of-factly, handing Dick the polar bear he was already ordered to voice.

“Why?”

“Because I do.” Damian drawled with a huff, like he was annoyed he had to explain himself. He still didn’t look up, still organizing and reorganizing the animals. Handing some to Dick, and putting some back in their box. _“Duh.”_

There was a snort from the kitchen, and Dick looked up again. Jason was covering his mouth, covering a smile that, for once, reached his eyes. And- oh, that’s right. Jason said that noise. Damian started mimicking it when he turned two.

“No, I meant…” Dick started, but then cut the thought. He meant to ask why Damian was saying it right now, not really in general. “Well… I love you too, baby.”

Damian looked up, then. Sharp blue eyes knowing and expectant. When he smiled, it was more of a smirk. “Good.”

~~

“So,” Roy asked, strolling slowly next to Jason as they reached the school. “How’s it going?”

“Great.”

_Lie._

“Really?”

“Yup.”

_Lie._

“Hm.” Roy hummed, opening the gate to the school, letting Jason in first. Damian’s last day, Jason decided they would go celebrate with ice cream in the park. “How’s Dick’s memory thing going?”

“Okay.”

_Truth._

“Still kind of slow?”

“Yeah.” Jason held the door open, smiled to Mrs. Little, and waved at Nell as the two left the building. “He’s at the manor right now, working on it with Bruce and Tim. Superman might be there, too.”

_Truth._

“Does it help?”

“Seems to.” Jason flashed a grin as the teacher caught sight of him, holding up a finger, asking him to wait just a second. “Recently, he’s been coming home all excited. Babbles about all the things he remembered that day.”

_Truth._

“Does Batman have a gage? Like how much he’s remembered?”

“The last update he gave me was probably about sixty-five percent.”

_Truth._

“And…how do you feel about that?”

“It’s good enough. For now.”

_Lie._

“Hm.” Roy hummed again, watching as the teacher reappeared from the other room, holding Damian’s hand. “Have you slept with him yet?”

“No.”

_Truth._

“Have you thought about it?”

“No.”

_Lie._

Roy went quiet, glancing out the window as Damian and his teacher approached. He paused as Miss Elizabeth gave Jason a few papers, explained a couple of things, and Damian gave his goodbyes. He yanked the door open, whispering as Jason passed through it, “Still not the same, huh?”

“No.”

And that was the hardest truth of it all.

~~

It was a moment of weakness.

It was the affect of the alcohol.

It was an _accident_.

It was he and Dick, standing shoulder to shoulder, washing dishes in the kitchen, not long after putting Damian to bed. It was the silence, teetering on the fence between comfortable and tense. It was Jason peeking glances at that pretty face every few seconds, and sensing Dick was doing the same.

It was the fact that the plate Jason just dried belonged in the cabinet right behind Dick’s head, and, thanks to the two and a half beers he’d had, he was too lazy to ask Dick to move.

It was the close quarters. It was Dick’s surprise, as Jason leaned towards him, arm stretching around his head to flick open the cabinet and drop the plate inside. It was Dick’s blue eyes flashing upwards, and Jason’s old habit of always meeting that gaze.

It was the proximity. It was the reminder that Jason and Dick hadn’t stood this close to each other since the elder had returned. It was the hesitation Jason had, keeping his hand pressed against that cabinet door, essentially boxing Dick into the corner. It was the way Dick’s eyes dropped to Jason’s lips before returning upwards. It was the hunger in those blue orbs. It was the _want_. It was the…hint of _knowledge_.

It was Jason, snapping inside. It was Jason not caring anymore.

It was the alcohol, it had to be.

It was Jason, slowly closing the distance. It was Jason, pressing his lips to Dick’s. It was Dick who instantly parted his own to allow entry.

It was the longest four seconds of their lives.

It was Dick, jumping back with a gasped, “Jay…!”

It was Jason, turning away with a whispered, “I’m sorry.”

It was soapy hands emerging from the sink. It was soaking fingers grabbing Jason’s face and turning him back. It was desperateness as Dick shoved their lips together once more. It was hands clinging to Dick’s hips, as he tried to devour Jason’s mouth.

It was the determination in Dick’s face, as he fell into a quick pattern of harsh, exploratory pecks to Jason’s lips. It was the fact that he stared up at Jason fiercely throughout, refusing to let go of his cheeks. It was Dick, fighting through the haze in his mind. It was Jason, reveling in the abuse of his face.

It was Dick breathing, “ _Jason…_ ”

It was knowing that was the first time he’d called him that since he returned.

It was hope. It was proof.

It was Jason pulling his mouth away. It was Jason grabbing both of Dick’s soap-covered hands. It was Jason smiling, practically _glowing_ , as he led Dick down the hallway. It was the most beautiful thing Dick had ever seen.

It was the slamming of the bedroom door. It was falling into that bed, onto that old red plaid comforter.

It _wasn’t_ sex. It was everything _else_.

It was a murmured “I love you.”

(It was not knowing who said it.)

It was the first night Dick didn’t sleep on the couch.

It was Day One-Hundred-Twenty-Five when Dick Grayson returned to his own bed.

~~

A floodgate was opened that day.

Suddenly, it seemed that everything Dick did recalled a former memory. Every trip to the grocery store, every stroll through the park, every touch from Jason’s hands.

Richard, the quiet solider of the Court of Owls was dying. Dick, the flamboyant acrobat they all loved so dearly, was returning.

The last time he had a session with Bruce, they estimated he had about sixty-five percent of his memory back. The next session, about a week later, they estimated a staggering eighty-seven.

And it was all because Jason kissed him. Because Jason kissed him, and never _stopped_ kissing him.

(Not that he ever stopped kissing Jason either.)

Those memories he had, of being a family, of him and Damian and Jason, they were more real now. They weren’t just _facts_. Facts that he knew he was supposed to have. They were tangible, as Jason slipped their hands together when they watched a movie. They were palpable, when they were laying in bed – in _his_ bed, _their bed_ – and Damian snuck in before the sun, snuggling down between them, waiting impatiently until both he and Jason gave him sleepy kisses.

(And it was the second time Damian did this in a week that, after he got the pecks to his cheeks, he rolled toward Dick, staring up at him with big, adoring blue eyes. That he took hold of Dick’s fingers, squeezing them protectively while he mumbled a soft, honest, “I’m glad you came home, Didi.”)

They were real, and Dick never wanted them to stop _being_ real. Because there was a happiness in their home now. A happiness in their family, now on the mend. Because Dick was remembering and Jason wasn’t drinking. Because Damian didn’t have to go between them anymore, but rather could have them both at the same time.

Because Jason smiled now. Let his walls down. Laughed. The distance he kept before was nonexistent now, and in fact, it was hard to ever get them apart.

Things weren’t quite perfect, of course – there was still work to be done, kidnappers to catch, Courts to shut down – but when had they ever been?

They were _good_ , though, Dick thought as Damian dozed in his arms. As Jason scooted closer and dropped a blanket around their shoulders. As Jason wrapped his arm around Dick’s back and held Damian’s hand as the fireworks started.

Yeah. Things were real good.

~~

And then one day, they weren’t.

It was a few weeks after, Day One-Hundred-Fifty-Six, to be exact. Jason had gone back to work at the garage, and Dick spent the days with Damian, or at the manor working with Bruce.

Jason was under a car. Just doing a simple oil change – thinking about what they were going to make for dinner tonight, about when they were going to go school shopping for Damian, about Dick’s hands on his thighs and teeth on his throat the night before – when he heard the screech of tires outside.

He was already shifting to roll out from under the car when he heard a few of the other mechanics head out to the parking lot. By the time he actually did it, though, Carl, one of the newer hires, was already standing over him.

“You’re gonna wanna get out there, man.” Carl’s eyes were wide. “Shit’s gonna go down, and you gotta stop it.”

Jason furrowed his brows as he stood, glancing over the hood of the car. He instantly recognized the wheels that had pulled up, that had no doubt made the screech – it was Bruce’s car.

His eyes shifted over to where the suddenly heated voices were coming from, to find that, while it was Bruce’s car, it wasn’t Bruce who had been the driver. It had been Dick – whose no-longer-pale face was tight and angry as Jason’s boss leaned in far too closely, who remained silent even as Jason’s boss jabbed a fat finger against his chest, right next to where Damian was balanced on his hip.

“Fuck,” Jason breathed, shoving the wrench into Carl’s hands as he jumped around the hood. “Don!”

Jason’s boss whirled around, teeth still clenched. He stepped away from Dick, turning completely towards Jason. “Jay-”

“Don.” Jason repeated harshly, grabbing the flabby flesh of Don’s arm and yanking him away, putting himself between him and Dick. “ _Don’t_.”

He didn’t wait for Don to explain himself – he knew what it was, Don still believed Jason’s lie that Dick had up and left him all those months ago, had vowed to beat the living shit out of Dick on Jason’s behalf  - before turning back to Dick. Dick’s face had changed drastically, going from cold fury to open agony.

“What is it,” Jason asked quickly, watching as Dick quickly placed Damian haphazardly on the ground. “What’s wrong, what happ-”

He couldn’t get the question out before Dick lunged, wrapping his arms tightly around Jason’s neck.

“I’m sorry,” Dick’s voice was shaky as he buried his face in the crook of Jason’s throat. “Oh, Jason, I’m _so sorry_.”

“What is it?” Damian asked gently, leaning up on his tiptoes to tug at Dick’s t-shirt. “Didi, what’s wrong?”

Jason returned the embrace, glancing over his shoulder at Carl and Don. Don seemed to be pouting, and crossed his arms. Jason glared harder, and Carl seemed to get the memo.

“Hey, Dames,” He called, stepping forward. He gently plucked Damian off the ground, walking quickly through the garage to the break room. Don hesitated before turning and following after them. “We just got a new snow-cone maker, with some new flavors. How about we try them all, and make one for Baba…”

Jason watched until Don closed the door behind them, before turning back to Dick.

“Sorry for what?” Jason asked, running his hand down Dick’s back. “You were supposed to be at Bruce’s today, what…what happened?”

Dick lifted his head, and his eyes were so sad. Tearful and wide, and Jason was suddenly afraid. Because Cassandra and Stephanie had been on a mission in Europe, and were undercover. Because they hadn’t heard from them in a week, so…

“I remembered.” Dick whispered, brushing his hand across Jason’s face and cupping his cheek. “I remembered…not being there.”

“Not being _where_?” Jason demanded. “Dick, what the hell are you-”

_“Your funeral.”_

Jason’s eyes widened. _Oh_.

Bruce had mentioned, in passing, that they were going to have Dick’s memories return as organically as they could. Start with one thing, and build off of it. A person, a place, a thing. And he’d admitted, after a few sessions, that they were purposely avoiding the topic of Jason’s death, of _anyone’s_ death. That if there was one memory never recovered, Bruce would be okay if it was that one.

Jason had whole-heartedly agreed.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Dick’s hand was shaking as he pressed his forehead to Jason’s other cheek. “I’d forgotten. I…I can’t _believe_ I forgot. I…that was one of the worst times of my life, because I _loved_ you, because I _lost_ you, and I just can’t believe that I let someone _take_ that memory from me…!”

“Shhh. Stop.” Jason held him tighter, tangled his fingers into Dick’s hair as he held the back of his head. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not. It’s _not_.” Dick shook his head, and Jason felt tears hitting his jaw. “Jay, I should have been there. I should have protected you-”

“It’s okay.” Jason repeated, tightening his grip around Dick’s shoulders. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay…”

“I missed you, when you were gone. Jason, I missed you _every fucking day_.” Dick sobbed. “I went to your grave every day. I cleaned it every week, I…”

Dick rambled on, and Jason let him. It’s not like he could refute anything Dick said – they were the facts. Jason died and Dick hadn’t been there. Granted, Jason knew it wasn’t Dick’s fault for that, it had been Bruce’s because the Batman decided not to tell him. But still.

It was hard, listening to… _seeing_ …the emotions Dick went through back then. His own torment and trauma. His own grief and pain.

It was like he was having a bad trip.

Fuck, he hated seeing Dick this way.

As Dick spoke, recalling the times he’d cried and the nightmares he had, Jason wondered if he was just listing off all of the memories he’d regained that day, during the session with Bruce, or…or if he was suddenly remembering all of this _right_ _now_.

Regardless, it was progress.

Regardless, he couldn’t leave Dick like this.

“It’s okay, baby.” He whispered as he turned his head at the groaning of the door, watched as Don led Damian back into the garage, the little boy’s lips dyed blue, a snow-cone in his hands. Damian teetered over, took in Dick’s bowed posture, and Jason’s frown.

“What happened, Baba?” Damian ordered harshly.

“Don’t worry about it, honey. Didi’ll be okay.” Jason said quietly, turning his attention to his boss. “I’m taking the rest of the day, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure.” Don shrugged. Suddenly he looked at Dick and frowned. “Hey, I know I was gonna…is…is he going to be okay?”

Jason ducked his head down, glanced into those half-lidded blue eyes. He turned back to Don, unwound his hand from Dick’s hair to take hold of Damian’s fingers. He gave Don a grim smile as he led both his boys back to the car. “Eventually.”

~~

“I made peace with it.” Jason admitted hours later, in the darkness of their bedroom, as he felt the sweat starting to cool on his skin, as he tried to control his still panting breaths. He watched as Dick slowly intertwined their fingers once more, ran his thumb over the back of Jason’s hand.

“No you didn’t.” Dick whispered. It had taken a few hours after they’d returned from the garage to calm Dick down, to get him to smile again. Dick asked a few questions, and Jason answered to he best of his ability. He hated talking about it, hated talking about being dead, but he hated Dick’s tears more. And if there was one person in the world that Jason _ever_ could talk about this with, it was Dick. Even if Dick wasn’t completely _Dick_ just yet. “If you had, you wouldn’t still be angry at Bruce.”

“That’s different.” Jason countered. He’d thought that after Dick had calmed down, it’d be the end of it. Especially since Dick acted normal the rest of the night. He smiled and laughed, played with Damian, made dinner, made dessert, kissed the bruise on Damian’s arm from running into the wall. Jason thought that was it. Everything was okay, it wasn’t going to be brought up again.

But then they’d put Damian to bed. Then they’d come back to their room and made love. Jason had been moaning, tensing around Dick, and Dick had been easing him through his orgasm, peppering his jaw line with kisses when he whispered one more quiet, _“I’m sorry.”_

And that’s when Jason realized that everything was _not_ okay again.

So now, here they were.

“I’ve made peace with the fact I died.” Jason continued, giving Dick’s fingers a tender squeeze. “I have _not_ made peace with the fact that Bruce didn’t save me, or didn’t avenge me.”

“I don’t see how you could have made peace with it.” Dick near-pouted. “I mean. Bruce hasn’t. _I_ haven’t.”

Jason smiled. “Because good things came from it.”

Dick’s eyes shot up, a question obvious in those blue eyes. Those blue eyes that were no longer vacant, now full and dark with remembrance. It looked funny, with his tousled hair. “Like what?”

“If I hadn’t died, I would have never been resurrected by Talia.” Jason chuckled, reaching out with his free hand, running his fingers through Dick’s hair for the millionth time tonight. “And if I hadn’t been resurrected by Talia, I would have never found out Damian even existed.”

Dick paused, then melted into his own warm smile. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

“And I mean, god. Where do you think that kid would be now, if I hadn’t taken him? Probably training to kill people with like…some monk assassins, or something.” Jason drawled. Dick laughed, low and sweet. Jason lulled in his petting. Let his hand rest against the side of Dick’s face. “And without Damian, I would have never landed you.”

“Oh, please.” Dick snorted, fingers tightening around Jason’s. His grin turned mischievous. “I think I still would have snagged you somehow.”

“ _You_ snagged _me_?” Jason asked, incredulous. Dick just kept laughing. “Babe, come on. I know your memory is still a bit weak right now, but I’m pretty sure _I_ snagged _you_.”

“Mhm. Sure you did.” Dick rolled his eyes, rolling slightly away, though never releasing Jason’s hand.

“What, you don’t believe me?” Jason followed the movement, shifting up on his elbow before flopping down on Dick’s chest, wrapping his other arm around his hips. “Do you need me to prove it to you? _Again?_ ”

“Oh yeah, _prove it_.” Dick just kept laughing, and it was music to Jason’s ears. Dick released their hands, only to shift his to the back of Jason’s neck. “Prove to me these skills of seduction you _apparently_ have always had. I must have _forgotten_.”

Jason leered, diving right in, sucking along Dick’s neck. The muscles rippled under his mouth, as Dick just kept cackling. It devolved from there. Into moans, rolling hips, roaming hands and gasps. And once again, Jason thought it was done. That their conversations were finished for another day.

Until slowly, those roaming hands moved up his back and around his chest. Until he felt fingers on his face, and found himself being held steady, staring into the two bright oceans of Dick’s eyes.

“I’m glad you came back,” Dick whispered, thumbs running adoringly along Jason’s cheekbones. “I’m glad you came back to me.”

Jason didn’t know the exact meaning behind the words. Did he mean back from the dead? Or back into his memory?

But really. It didn’t matter.

“Yeah.” Jason murmured as Dick pulled his face down, as those two oceans fluttered closed, as their lips met and electricity shot through them both. “Yeah, me too.”

~~

_Bumpbumpbumpbumpbump-_ **_CRASH!_ **

_“Didi!”_ Damian screeched boredly, though both Jason and Dick were already jerked awake from the door being slammed into the wall. The sun wasn’t up yet, and the clock claimed it was about four-fifteen. Four-fifteen on Day One-Hundred-Sixty-One. _“Batman’s here!”_

Dick sat up as Jason groggily mumbled, “Wha…?”

Damian didn’t stick around after his announcement, pattering back down the hall and into the family room. Dick rolled out of bed, slapping his face to try and wake himself up. Because Damian was four and fearless, and there was a chance he was wrong. Dick needed to be prepared to protect him at all costs.

But when he emerged from the hallway, he found that Damian hadn’t, in fact, been wrong. That Bruce was sitting there on the sofa, cowl drawn back, face tired and unshaven, but oddly content.

(He hadn’t looked that content since Jason agreed to come to the manor for New Year’s Eve with Damian, and actually _did_ it.)

(Or since Dick remembered that occasion.)

“What is it?” Dick slurred, as Damian reappeared from the kitchen, handing Bruce a pack of Oreos. “What happened?” A paused, then: “What do you need me to do?”

Bruce chuckled, taking the packet from Damian and waiting until Damian pulled himself up onto the couch to open it. “It’s nothing like that.”

Dick heard movement behind him, felt Jason’s presence at his shoulder. “Then what _is_ it like?” Jason asked. “Because last I checked, Batman doesn’t make house calls and wake people’s four-year-olds for good things.”

“I’m sorry. I was just going to wait until you both woke up in the morning, but he apparently heard me.” Bruce smiled down at Damian, who was eyeing the cookies greedily. “But, I wanted the two of you to be the first to know.”

“First to know what?” Dick pushed, even as Jason cleared his throat towards Damian. The boy pursed his lips and moved away from the cookies, flopping angrily back into the cushions.

“That it’s done.” Bruce’s smile widened. “The Court of Owls is finished.”

Both Jason and Dick paused, in complete shock. Bruce just watched them, absently taking the cookie Damian pulled out of the pack to offer him.

“They won’t be bothering us anymore. Dick, they won’t be coming after you.” Bruce explained, watching as Dick grabbed at Jason’s wrist, as they stared at each other in surprise. “Your family is safe.”

“You’re sure?” Jason whispered, turning back to Bruce. “B, you’re _absolutely sure?_ ”

“Completely.” Bruce promised, glancing down at Damian. Damian stared innocently up at him. “The threat has been eliminated.”

“The what?” Damian asked. Bruce chuckled, shaking his head. Damian dropped the topic instantly, shaking his head and turning to Jason. “Baba, can I have a cookie?”

“No, you can get your butt back in bed.” Jason scolded. “What have we told you about waking up before sunrise?”

“To roll over and go back to sleep.” Damian drawled, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Can I sleep in your bed this time?”

“Only if you actually _sleep_. None of that fidgeting stuff, okay?” He held his hand out. “Come on, baby.”

Damian tumbled off the couch, turning just to give Bruce a quick wave before trotting over to Jason, raising his arms expectantly. Jason just snorted, following the command and lifting Damian onto his hip.

“I’ll, uh…I’ll give you two a minute.” He mumbled to Dick, though turned quickly back to Bruce. “Feel free to stay the rest of the night, if you want.”

Dick stayed quiet until Jason and Damian disappeared into the back bedroom, the door clacking shut behind them. “Is this real, Bruce?”

“Yes.” Bruce said shortly. “You know I wouldn’t have come here if it weren’t.”

Dick nodded slowly. “So…so what happens now?”

“Now you go back to them. You go back to loving Jason and Damian with everything you’ve got.” Bruce said warmly. “You go back to being happy.”

Dick stood there a moment, then huffed an incredulous laugh. “Just…just like that, huh?”

“Just like that.” Bruce repeated. “Just don’t think about it too much. You tend not to.”

“Yeah, I _remember_ , Bruce. Thanks.” Dick laughed. After a moment, he sighed, looking back at the bedroom door.

“Go on.” Bruce waved him away, sitting the pack of cookies on the coffee table. “I guess I’ll stay, just this once. We’ll talk about it in the morning. I just…I just wanted you to know.”

“Thank you, Bruce.” Dick whispered. “I mean it.”

“I know you do.” Bruce murmured. “And…Dick?”

“Hm?”

“You can go back to being Nightwing now, since the Court isn’t a risk.” Bruce stated quietly. His own eyes drifted to the door Jason and Damian had disappeared through. “You know, if you wanted to.”

Dick felt the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. Well, he’d have to talk to Jason about that.

“Maybe.” Slowly, he turned, taking careful steps down the hallway, feeling the smile on his face grow. “…Goodnight, Bruce.”

He heard Bruce exhale happily, sink back into the sofa cushions. “Goodnight, Dick.”

~~

Dick thought he was lucky, in an oddly morbid kind of way.

He got to fall in love with Jason twice.

And that probably wasn’t completely true. He only _fell_ in love with Jason once, but got to _realize_ it twice. Got to have their first kiss twice, their first time twice. Got to feel that excitement, that passion, of whispering “I love you” for the first time, all over again.

Got to remember every second of every experience.

Not many got that.

It was probably a silly thought. Jason would claim him too optimistic, finding a bright spot in this whole Court of Owls ordeal, but he didn’t care. It was a small reward, for an otherwise agonizing few months, and he was going to milk it for all it was worth.

Because the Owls tried to take it from him. Tried to take _this_ from him. Tried to take Jason, tried to take Damian. And they’d almost succeeded, too.

_Almost_ being the key word.

Because they tried – and they failed.

And it was a sappy thought, but that was the power of love, wasn’t it? Able to break through anything, even forced amnesia.

He always wondered, though, what would have happened had Damian not found him in the hall that night. Had Damian not used the nickname he had for him. Would there still have been enough of that undying love in there to break through? Would just seeing Jason have been enough? Or would he have completed his mission without hesitation, killed them both like he had originally planned, originally been ordered to?

If Damian hadn’t seen him that night…would there still have been enough of the original Dick Grayson left to be saved?

He didn’t know. He didn’t care, either, because that’s not what happened. Damian _did_ see him in the hall that night, and he _did_ hesitate. And because of that, because of those dominoes falling in a line. He got his life back. He got his _family_ back.

“You’re doing it again.”

Dick’s eyes jerked up to see Jason glancing at him in the corner of the bathroom mirror, toothbrush shoved into his mouth, eyes sleepy. Damian stood next to him, on his stepstool, having a difficult time reaching the opposite side of the sink, where his own toothbrush sat.

Dick blinked from his position against the doorframe. “Doing what?”

“Staring.” Jason blurted out, toothpaste flying from his mouth, dripping onto Damian’s nose. Damian reeled, face scrunching in disgust.

“What,” Dick asked, pushing off the frame and leaning forward, plucking the hand towel off its rack. He turned Damian around, holding his chin as he wiped at his face. “Am I not allowed?”

“It’s too early for that shit.” Jason explained. Dick laughed as he stood back up, reached over Damian and grabbed his toothbrush for him. “Are you…feeling okay?”

Dick smiled, handing Damian his toothbrush before shifting behind Jason, wrapping his arms tightly around Jason’s waist. Quickly, he leaned up, pressed a kiss to Jason’s cheek.

(This was the man he loved. This was the man the universe tried to take him from. This was the man he got to fall in love with twice.)

“Mhm.” Dick smiled, even as Damian turned towards them, as he head-butted Dick’s arm in an attempt to be included in the affection. Dick laughed, pulled away to hike Damian up on his hip. The boy’s cheeks were puffed in a pout, and Dick kissed at both of them, and at his nose.

(Because he wouldn’t be standing here if it wasn’t for this child. This four-year-old and his stubborn conviction. Damian saved his life, Damian brought him home, and Dick would never forget that, as long as he lived.)

He let his grin soften as he ran a hand of Damian’s messy hair and pressed their foreheads together. “Never better.”

~~

Jason yawned as he trudged up the stairs. What a day. Screaming old ladies, missing parts, a near wreck in the damn parking lot, and an attempted robbery – that he stopped with his rusty Robin skills.

Sometimes he couldn’t believe he willingly came back to this stupid city.

But it was over now, and he was looking forward to a relaxing night. A movie, maybe with a beer, maybe not. Definitely ice cream. Definitely family cuddling, whether Damian was feeling it today or not. Definitely whining at Dick until the other kissed his lips raw.

That last one would be much later, of course.

But yeah. A relaxing night. With his family, with the two he loved more than the entire world. Because, against all odds, that was a possibility once more, and Jason would thank the lucky stars until the day he died – again – for it.

Because most vigilantes didn’t get a second shot at this kind of happiness, and here were two cases of it under one roof. Three, if they really wanted to count the baby with the assassin mother and Batman father.

He reached the landing and let out a long exhale. And for once, he didn’t feel the weight of the world sinking into his bones.

He waved to Mrs. Estrada down the hall as he twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open, promising to let her cook them all dinner next week, that he just had to talk to Dick about what day.

The door was barely shut behind him, when Damian’s typical screech of “Baba!” echoed through the flat. Jason chuckled – one of these days they were going to teach that kid the value of an inside voice.

But Damian came flying out of the kitchen, barreling towards Jason like he hadn’t seen him in months – and that was the biggest change Jason noticed in their son from this whole situation; he was much more protective of his Didi and Baba, much more grateful and excited when they returned from wherever they’d been, much more willing to show affection in the good mornings and goodnights, in the hellos and goodbyes.

Jason dropped his bag and crouched, holding his arms open as their custom dictated. As Damian neared him, however, he took note of the something white and sticky-looking on his hands.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Dames.” Jason caught him before he could get his hands on his leather jacket. Upon closer examination, he found the child’s hands were coated in…icing? Cream cheese icing, he discovered when he licked Damian’s thumb. “What did you and Didi get up to today?”

“Cake!” Damian smiled, in that cute little way where it wasn’t a smile at all. Just teeth pushed together and lips pulled back, like when the dentist asked to see the pearly whites. “Just finished!”

“Cake?” Jason echoed, carefully lifting Damian in a way that his grubby little hands wouldn’t get on his coat. They moved towards the kitchen entry, where Jason assumed Dick was. “What ca…”

His voice trailed off as he took in the cooking area. There were pots and pans and measuring spoons everywhere, a puff of flour on the ground, tiny footprints trailed through it. But that wasn’t what he was looking at. He was looking at the table, where three plates were set out, each with a matching party hat, the ones they’d bought for Damian’s fourth the year before.

In the center of the plates was the cake in question, freshly iced, with a candle on top. Dick was leaning over it with a match, lighting it. He glanced up, and smiled, waving the match to extinguish it.

“What…?”

“Happy birthday, Jason.” Dick hummed warmly as he moved around the table, plucking one of the hats from the table.

And – oh yeah, that was today wasn’t it? He’d forgotten, tended to forget every year. Birthdays seemed kind of pointless after dying and being resurrected, after all.

“Happy birt-day!” Damian echoed, smearing the frosting across the stubble on Jason’s chin as he grabbed his face to kiss him. “Are you old now?”

Jason ignored his question as Dick approached. “I didn’t tell you it was my birthday. And I’m sure Bruce didn’t-”

“Didn’t need to.” Dick smiled. He shifted to put the hat on Jason’s head, but Damian reached for it first, making needy little sounds until Dick relented, and gave to him. “I remembered on my own.”

Jason watched as Damian fumbled with the hat, as he dragged icing all through his own hair while he did so. “When?”

“Months ago.” Dick confessed. “It was during one of the earlier sessions, when we were going over the basics of the people I knew. Your birthday and Damian’s – or the one we assigned for him – were the only two dates I knew. It was before I even remembered my own.”

“Oh.” Jason breathed, crumbling just a little as Dick wrapped his arms around him and Damian. Because no one remembered his birthday. Bruce probably did, but he never contacted Jason during it. It was probably more a reminder than a celebration for the old man anyway. But here, someone did. Here, the fucking _amnesiac_ , who was still working to get those last few details of his old life back, _did_. Here, it was one of the _first goddamn things he remembered_. “Oh.”

“Mhm.” Dick sang with a smile, nodding towards the coffee table. “I mean, I wasn’t the only one. Alfred sent some gifts over.”

Jason turned, glanced at the immaculately wrapped gifts sitting there. The card with Bruce’s scrawl across the front half-hidden underneath a package.

That wasn’t what caught his attention, though. What caught his attention was the box underneath the table, already opened and not closed very well, clearly not supposed to be seen. The one with a black sleeve sticking out of it. A black sleeve with a blue stripe down the middle.

_Dick’s Nightwing uniform._

Yeah, that was a thing that was happening. A thing Jason wasn’t the happiest about.

“Alfred asked if we would go to the manor in a few days to have a little celebration with everyone.” Dick continued. “I told him we would, if that’s alright.”

A thing Jason could worry about later.

Jason turned back to Dick, a content smile on his face. “Yeah, that sounds great.”

“Good.” Dick stated with a nod. Suddenly he pulled away, stepping out of the way and motioning to the table. “Well, come on, Birthday Boy. Better blow out that candle before we burn the building down.”

“Baba, can I have the biggest piece?” Damian asked as Jason sat down, shifted Damian onto his lap. “I’m gonna need the biggest piece.”

“Need?” Jason asked, resting his head on Damian’s shoulders as he wiped at his fingers with a napkin. “Why are you going to _need_ it?”

“To share with Leo-nard.” Ah, yes. Leo-nard the stuffed leo-pard, who was currently stationed in the kitchen sink. “ _Duh_.”

“Oh, right.” Jason glanced up as Dick stood next to him, pushed the cake closer to the edge. “Of course.”

Dick just laughed and rolled his eyes as Jason leaned forward, and puffed the flame out. “Happy birthday, Jay.”

~~

“So.”

“So?”

Jason paused, watching as Tim and Stephanie chased Damian around the yard a few days later.

“Are you going to do it?”

“Maybe.” Dick said. “Probably.”

“Oh.”

“It’ll be better now, Jay.” Dick tried. “We reinforced the suit. I’ve gotten more training. And it’s not like I’m going to be going out any more than normal. What did I do before, two or three days a week? Bruce already said I’m not going to be doing more than one per seven days. At least for now.”

“But one time is all it takes.” Jason whispered. Damian squealed in laughter as Stephanie fell down, and Jason had a nauseating flashback to a few months ago, when Dick was gone and Damian wouldn’t do that as often. “One patrol, one missed bad guy. One prick of a knock-out drug and you’re all theirs.”

“Jay-”

“I know how this works, Dick.” Jason hissed. His voice suddenly cracked, as he turned to look at the other. “And _you didn’t come back last time_.”

“I know.” Dick reached out, tugged at Jason’s fingers. “I know, Jay.”

“But let me guess.” Jason shot bitterly. “You _have_ to do this, right?”

“Just as much as you had to take Damian away from Talia and Bruce.” Dick countered easily. “Yeah.”

Jason shook his head, stared back out into the yard. Damian was punching Tim in the stomach, and it must have tickled, because Tim was laughing. “You broke his heart last time, Dick. Maybe even more than you broke mine. And I don’t…if it happened again, I don’t know if he’d recover.”

“I know. And I don’t plan on having it happen again.” Dick replied. He stepped closer to Jason, bumping their shoulders. “But let’s just try, okay? Because…because the city still needs Nightwing, and…well, so do I.”

Now it was Jason’s turn to say, “…I know.”

“One day at a time.” Dick mumbled, twisting his hand to wrap completely around Jason’s. “We’ll just take it one day at a time. Can we do that?”

And on Day One-Hundred-Eighty-Five, Jason whispered, “Yeah, we can do that.”

~~

He waited, like he did every night Dick put on that mask. Window open, bathroom light on, sitting up against the wall behind the pillows with a book propped open on his bent knees. Damian was asleep next to him, curled up around Dick’s pillow.

Dick tried to convince him not to. Tried to convince him that everything would be fine. That tonight was just about reacquainting himself with his old patrol route. But Jason wouldn’t listen. Jason swore he was going to stay up.

Because it was terrifying, thinking how quickly his happiness could be taken away.

How quickly it was before.

He tried to focus on the words of his book, tried to not think of going to the kitchen and grabbing a beer, tried to keep his breathing slow, match it with Damian’s sleeping huffs. He kept glancing down at the boy, smiling and running his hand over Damian’s hair.

Because tonight scared Damian, too. Because Damian was so much smarter than he had the right to be. Because he knew what Dick was doing, and he wasn’t real thrilled with it either. Because Damian had thrown his stuffed animals onto the bed, and glared at Dick as he snapped, “I’m sleeping with Baba tonight since Didi _won’t be.”_

God, this kid was amazing.

But regardless, Jason waited.

And waited.

And _waited_.

And finally, was _rewarded_.

There was a slight clang of the fire escape, and then the light thump of boots on the windowsill. Jason looked up as Dick dropped to the floor, and shut the window behind him.

Jason slumped, let the book fall to the floor as Dick stripped off the costume, showing off some new bruises. “Hey, beautiful.”

Dick grinned as he turned around, as he gently lifted the covers and pushed Damian to the center of the bed. And this time, Jason made it. He stayed awake long enough to watch Dick fall into bed beside him. He stayed awake long enough to feel Dick wrap his arms around him and Damian both. He stayed awake long enough to watch Dick tenderly kiss Damian’s forehead, to feel Dick lean over their son and give him a proper goodnight kiss.

On Day One-Hundred-Eighty-Eight, Jason cried.

Because on Day One-Hundred Eighty-Eight, Nightwing finally came home.

And there never was a Day One-Hundred-Eighty-Nine.

**Author's Note:**

> [Other things for Nevolition’s Dad!Jason AU](http://fishfingersandjellybabies.tumblr.com/tagged/dad%21jason+au)   
> 


End file.
